My Last Request
by Royalty09
Summary: He should have had his revenge, but it all went wrong. Jackson x Lisa.
1. Chapter 1

It was beautiful up here, truly beautiful. I've spent my whole life in Miami and I've only seen the leaves turn once in my life. One year ago my father and I made the thirteen hour drive to King, North Carolina to visit with my cousin and his family over the Thanksgiving holiday. The leaves were turning then, but it was nothing like this. Nothing could compare to this.

New England in October; the very definition of beauty and if I didn't have a gun pointed at the back of my head, I would have gone through a roll of film in a heartbeat.

"Quit dragging your feet," Jackson ordered, impatient in the face of his revenge and I guess he should be since it was over two years in the making.

This trail and the way the drooping tree branches with their brilliant shades of red, yellow and orange seemed to close around it made me feel as if we were walking through a tunnel. I could spend a lifetime out here, lost in my own thoughts. It was breathtaking and then it just stopped and there was nothing. We reached a clearing, not a field, but an actual clearing. The trees were gone, the underbrush; the grass itself was _gone_. It looked like a bomb had gone off but Jackson didn't seem phased by the sudden barren landscape. He seemed pleased.

"Nothing but sand and gravel," he said, bending down and scooping up a handful of dirt. "You're grave will practically dig itself."

There was a traitor in my midst. I had told only a handful of people where I would be. It was a three day trip, hardly front page news. Other than my co-workers and my dad, I didn't see the need to spread the word because I didn't want the attention.If people had found out that Lisa Reisert was about to step foot on a plane for the first time in years, that really would catch the interest of the media who spent too much time chasing too little news. The last thing I needed was public scrutiny during what promised to be a stressful experienceEven after all this time, I'm still stopped on the street occasionally and praised as if I'm some kind of hero Do I deserve that title? I don't know. In my eyes, I did what any decent human being would have done and that one experience does not define my life, even though I am proud of myself for pulling it together when the chips were down and in keeping with my new found bravado, when I had been offered the chance to leave Miami, even for a few days, I took it.

When I was asked to fly to Boston to assist with employee orientation at this, our first branch in New England, I welcomed the chance to get away. There was no heroism behind the decision. Jackson Rippner was tucked away in a maximum security prison and even if he did survive his stay in jail, what with his former employers no doubt calling for his head after such a catastrophic failure and the scorn of his fellow inmates over having his ass handed to him by a girl, I wouldn't have to worry about meeting him again for another twenty years, maybe more if he didn't behave himself.

Still, I have to admit, when I was waiting to check-in, I was constantly glancing over my shoulder for any blue eyed strangers and when the opportunity to upgrade to first class had dropped into my lap, I took it, even if I did have to pay for the privilege out of my own pocket.

The flight had passed uneventfully. I made it to my hotel without any trouble and later that night, when my head hit the pillow, I was out within a matter of seconds. If I had turned on the television, if I hadn't shut my cell phone off for the evening, not wanting to be bothered for just one night, I would have heard about the riots. I would have known that by the time the prison guards regained control of the facility, they found nothing but cinder and ashes where Jackson's cell had once been. But if I had seen that, I would have thought he was dead. That's what my friends and family must have thought because they never called the hotel. They never asked them to ring my room. _"Let her enjoy her trip. We'll tell her when she gets back," _they had collectively thought and I drifted off to sleep none the wiser.

But I had woken up in the back of a van. One of those 'molester vans' as Cynthia often calls them; the type with curtains on their high set windows and indoor/outdoor carpeting in the back. Jackson knew my location, my room number, everything. A man on the run, lucky because he was presumed dead, should not have that knowledge. To get into my room, knock me unconscious and judging by the intensity of the headache I had woken up with, that's what he must have done, and carry me to his waiting van meant he had help; lots of it.

"Do you have any last requests, Leese?"

I was about to ask him if I could have the gun, but decided that sarcasm on my part would earn me little more than a bullet in the head. So I held my tongue, knowing that if I were to have any hope of getting out of this alive, any hope at all, I would have to keep him talking, not make him angry.

"Yes I do. I want to know who helped you," I insisted.

Someone had to have helped him but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out who that might have been. My father, Cynthia; it couldn't be. The only other person I could think of was Reginald Paxton, Southeast Regional Manager, but even that was a stretch. To put it bluntly, the guy was pure vanilla. He was married, had five kids, went to church every Sunday and spent most of his free time doing volunteer work. He was a saint and there was no way in hell, no pun intended, that I could envision him ratting me out, not unless Jackson had threatened his family just as he had mine. _You bastard._

"Sorry, Leese, but a good assassin never reveals his sources."

"Then _you_ should have no problem telling me every last detail," I fired back because if he really had it in him to shoot me, my last words would _not_ be, "Please, Jackson, don't kill me." This wasn't a parking lot; I would never beg again.

"Somehow I knew you would say something like that," he said and when he smiled,I could see the emotions he always tried so hard to hide. He'd had a similar expression on his face years ago as he came down the stairs with that knife in hand; anger mixed with uncertainty. Ending my life was something he was loath to do but I wasn't safe, not until I could figure out what caused his delay.

There had been chemistry between us right from the start. For me, the attraction came to a screeching halt when he showed his true colors, but for him the fascination was as strong as ever. I know I pissed him off to no end over the course of the flight and I kept on pissing him off when the battle moved to my father's house, but he respects me. No, it's something more than respect. He's fixated, obsessed and if I had gotten on my knees and begged for my life, I would have lost my mystique and I'd probably be dead right now.

"There's more," I continued, knowing that by baiting him, I was buying myself time. "I'd also like to take this opportunity to tell you that you should go fuck yourself."

"Excuse me?" he said in disbelief and then glanced over his shoulder. Had anyone been there, I'm sure he would have asked, "_Can you believe this_?"

"You heard me," I responded and realized that we had had a similar conversation once before, only now, the roles were reversed. "You screwed up every aspect of your assignment from start to finish and you have the nerve to bring me out here and put a bullet in _my_ head! I refused to stand back while you murdered an entire family and _I'm_ at fault? Do the world a favor, Jackson; turn that damn gun on yourself!"

"One phone call, Lisa; that's all I wanted. One phone call and we wouldn't even be here right now. Our lives would have stayed on course like they were supposed to. You'd be miserable just like you were before and I'd move on to bigger and better things. Instead, you jammed a pen into my windpipe. For Christ's sake, Leese, did you sing, 'I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar,' as they carted me off in that ambulance?"

"I can't help it if I'm level headed, Jack."

"Level headed, huh? You left me to rot," he yelled, sounding a little too hurt for a man who brought me out here with the intention of burying my body in the woods.

"I left you to rot? What did you want me to do? Bake you cookies and visit twice a week."

"Well, that would have been nice," he teased.

Now we were bickering like an old married couple. What was wrong with the two of us?

"Are you going to do it or what?" I asked, hoping to play to his uncertainties because he seemed to enjoy our arguments so much and quite frankly, I was sick and tired of standing out here in the middle of nowhere in my flannel pajamas and slippers. I was cold, I was tired and I wasn't in the mood for this shit.

Before he could answer, we heard the screams, and both of us were taken aback because, for once, they weren't coming from either of us.

"Damn it," Jackson mumbled as he tucked the gun behind his back. "Keep your mouth shut, Lisa or yours won't be the only body I bury out here."

Wordless cries of terror came closer and closer until two people, a man and a woman who appeared to be in their mid to late twenties came crashing through the trees and when they saw us, their screams intensified.

"Run!" they cried as they flew past without slowing down in the slightest, moving so fast that I barely had the chance to look at them.

Just as quickly as they had come, they were gone and Jackson and I both watched in astonishment as they sped down the trail.

Then we heard the sound of wood splintering behind us and we both turned back around. I couldn't see what was approaching but whatever it was, the trees themselves bent to its will, like the parting of the Red Sea. I took a step back, stopping when I collided with Jackson.

"We should run," he whispered.

A flash of yellow as it stepped into the clearing, less than a hundred feet from us – glowing eyes; massive, but…incomplete. _Oh, God_. _It's horrible._ I couldn't bear to look any longer.

When I turned around, I saw Jackson's back as he took off down the trail, following in the footsteps of those other terrified hikers.

"Run, Lisa!" he yelled and for once in my life I listened to him.

His car, we had to get to his car…..

**Author's Note: Born and raised in New England and I'm damn proud of it! I'm sure it's just a matter of time before all my stories are set there. **

**I'm diving into Native American mythology here and I hope you enjoy it. I promise this monster, for lack of a better word, is not big foot.**

**Lisa and Jackson will have to work together in order to get out of this alive and something tells me they're going to mend some fences in the process. **

**Thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	2. Chapter 2

The first time I heard its cry, I almost collapsed. High pitched, shrill; it was painful to hear and if I didn't know for a fact that when Jackson got to his van, if I wasn't standing right beside him, he'd leave me behind, I don't know if I could have gone on. Thankfully, I was being driven by a little bit of adrenalin and a whole lot of fear and I found myself actively gaining on him. By the time we reached the main road, we were side by side and his van was sitting there waiting for us. Never before and never again would I have to urge to fall upon my knees and kiss a rusty, beat to hell vehicle like this but I was just so excited to find it still there, just as we'd left it.

Or maybe not…As we drew closer, our hope turned to anguish. The van was not just as we'd left it. It was in tatters. The tires, all four of them, were not only flat, but ripped to shreds and strewn about the dirt road. I knew there was no possible way Jackson kept four spare tires in the back of the van and I wondered if it was even possible or how far we would get on this bumpy road riding on the rims.

The van itself had not faired much better than the tires but the damage seemed to be more cosmetic than anything else; like whatever I had seen in the woods moments ago had decided to use Jackson's car as its personal scratching post.

That didn't stop him though. Without missing a step, he threw open the drivers side door and hoped inside, turning the key in the ignition and getting nothing in response. After a string of colorful words and a few more failed attempts to start the car, he pounded on the dash board, and screamed in frustration. The van was dead.

"We have to get out of here, Jack. You're wasting time," I yelled as I started to run again, hoping to make it into the woods and find some sort of hiding place before this thing had a chance to spot me.

When I looked at Jackson again, his face had darkened and he was cast in shadow. On a beautiful, fall morning, when there wasn't a cloud in the sky, he was shrouded in darkness and then I heard it breathing behind me.

"Jackson," I whispered just before my breath caught in my throat.

"Stay calm, Leese," he yelled through the window. "On the count of three, you're going to run to the passenger side of the van as fast as you can."

"I can't," I whimpered, unable to hide the tears that began to form the second I felt this monsters breath on the back of my neck. "I can't, Jackson."

"Yes you can. On the count of three, you're going to run, you're going to get in the van and you're going to lock the door behind you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I sobbed.

"Okay; one, two…three!"

And when I heard him say 'three' I took off like a bat out of hell. I probably would have made it too if I hadn't glanced at the windshield for one more reassuring look from Jackson. That's not what I got. Right behind me, reflected in the glass was _it_, looking every bit as awful, if not more so. In an effort to maintain my sanity, I had tried to convince myself that this was some kind of rabid polar bear. It seemed impossible but I was quickly beginning to understand that in these ancient woods, anything was possible. But this was no polar bear. A polar bear doesn't have the wherewithal to sabotage its quarries sole means of escape. That required thinking, planning and malformed as this thing was; missing fingers, ears and part of its nose, there was something vaguely human about it.

"Oh God, Oh God," I kept repeating and then I slipped on a pile of pine needles which covered the road like a blanket and fell flat on my face. I tried to get up, thinking I might still have a chance, only to have a heavy weight come to rest between my shoulder blades, pushing me back to the ground.

It might seem odd, but at that moment, I thought about something I'd seen on the Oprah Winfrey show the week before. She interviewed a group of hikers that had been attacked by a grizzly bear and the one thing I remembered was that each one of them said that the thing to do in a situation like that was play dead. Something about bears not eating carrion or something like that, at that point I wasn't paying attention anymore but it had worked for them obviously. They had some nasty scratches, not to mention a few bumps and bruises, but the bear had only pawed at them out of curiosity before it went on its way and now they were on national television recounting the ordeal. Hoping it would work for me too, I tucked my arms under my body, drew myself into a fetal position, more or less, and tried to act as dead as anyone could while half out of their mind with fear.

Immediately, it started poking at me, nuzzling at my ear with its partial nose and those appalling sniffs and snorts were impossible to tune out no matter how hard I tried. The thing reeked of decay and I had an image in my mind of this thing roaming the countryside, falling upon unsuspecting campers and ripping them apart, taking bits and pieces to complete its patchwork frame. It certainly smelled that way. I tried to focus on Jackson and what he might be doing to rescue me. Then my rational side took over and I realized that other than hearing the van rock once, there was no sound of a car door slamming or any indication that he was standing behind this thing, gun drawn, and ready to save my life. The rocking I had heard was most likely him reaching over to lock the passenger side door and I was stupid to have thought otherwise. He would have let me sit next to him in that ruined van while we watched the monster lurk outside, but that was about it.

I'm a fighter by nature, I always have been. Jackson for all his tough talk, is a coward but even after all I've been through, I still find it hard to accept that some people cannot stand up for themselves or others. Through fear or ignorance, they look the other way. That's probably why most women are better off crying _fire_ than _rape. _I don't know why and I really shouldn't care, but some reason, I was disappointed by his failure to act. The fighter in me simply cannot accept spinelessness.

With the hikers long gone and Jackson having left me to my fate, I was down to my last alternative. Why is He always the last one I turn to? Does He dislike me for it? I hope not, because I really need Him right now.

"_Please, God, help me. If you get me out of this alive, I promise I'll be in church every Sunday sitting right next to Mr. Paxton and his five kids. You have my word."_

I stayed remarkably calm throughout all of this, keeping my body rigid as it repeatedly tried to turn me onto my back. Somehow I knew I couldn't let that happen. I thought it would only be a matter of time before it decided I was dead and moved on, but when its finger touched the side of my face, leaving a trail of slime or rot, I couldn't decide which was worse, in its wake, I lost it. I whimpered before I could stop myself.

Sharp nails tore into me, ripping through my clothing like it wasn't even there and I couldn't get up. It was on me, I couldn't get away and I started screaming; screaming for Jackson, my father, anyone that might get this thing off of me before it literally tore me limb from limb.

Another agonizing scratch and then another scream, only this time it wasn't me and it wasn't the unnamed monster either. It sounded familiar to me and then I remembered I had heard it once before. The voice of the hiker, the one who had told me to run – he must have turned around at some point and noticed that we weren't behind him. He had come back for us. God bless him, he came back.

I smelled smoke, felt the heat, followed by the creatures wail and then it was off of me. I watched it run into the woods, fire dancing along its back as it continued to holler and the man who had come to my rescue was standing over me now, carrying a makeshift torch in his hand and screaming, "How do you like that, huh? That's for Martin!"

"_Who was Martin"_, I wondered.

My whole body trembled. I knew I _should_ be in pain; that when I finally calmed down a bit, I _would_ be in pain but at that moment, the only thing I felt was his hand on my shoulder. The contact made me jump and all the emotions I had managed to keep locked within came flooding out and I burst into tears.

"You're okay," he said as he helped me to my feet. "I've got you now. We're going to take care of you."

I looked up, wanting to put a face to the voice. He had run past us so quickly the first time that I had not had the chance to really catch a glimpse of him or his companion.

He had the richest, brown eyes I'd ever seen, full of concern for me which made them even more attractive. A well built man, his skin was so dark and so perfect; it looked as though he'd been chiseled from black marble and I started to wonder if fear was the only reason I felt weak in the knees.

"You, you saved my life," I said in awe. "You came back for me, for us."

"Somebody had to," he replied in a low voice, turning towards the van with a look of disdain.

Just then, Jackson came running from behind the vehicle with a shot gun in hand. He took in the sight of me, still shaking and bleeding and in the arms of another man who regarded him as little more than a coward.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Gone," the man replied. "No thanks to you."

Jackson scowled back at him, more than ready for a confrontation, when a petite woman with that same ebony skin stepped out of the woods, capturing all our attentions.

"Emmitt, Emmitt are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm…_we're_ fine, Lindsay. It ran away. Now didn't I tell you to take that thing off?" he asked, snatching the bright red, knit cap from her head. "You stick out like a sore thumb."

"It's okay, we're safe for now," Lindsay responded, snatching her hat back and returning it to its' rightful place as she looked up towards the cloudless sky. "It won't come back until nightfall."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Because it hates the light; it only comes out in the daytime if it thinks there's an easy meal. If Emmitt did some damage, it will run off, lick its wounds and come back when the sun sets."

When I stopped shivering from the cold and shaking like a leaf, I planned to ask her exactly what _it_ was and why she knew so much about it. I had a lot of questions, but for now, I didn't think I could handle the answers, so I held my tongue.

Lindsay stepped behind me and I could feel her fingers gently pealing back the shredded layers of my pajama top to get a better look at the damage that had been done.

"I've got a first aid kit in my backpack. Is your campsite nearby, sweetie? You won't last long out here in tattered pj's"

"We don't have a campsite," I answered.

"What about in the van? You've got to have something" she reasoned.

"There's nothing in the van," Jackson snapped, drawing another look of contempt from Emmitt and if I didn't know better, I'd swear my would-be killer was jealous.

"Then what are you two doing up here?" Emmitt asked.

"I'll tell you when we get off this mountain, deal?"

"Whatever, asshole," Emmitt mumbled before he shoved past Jackson and walked to the back of the van, opening the double doors. "Help her back here, Linds. Let's get her cleaned up."

On the way, I felt Jackson grab my hand and I turned to see a desperate look in his eye.

"I wasn't going to leave you. I'm not a coward."

"Sure," I whispered and winked at him, just imagining the rage that was churning within him in the face of my unconcealed sarcasm. He was so angry there was no doubt in mind that if the saying 'there's strength in numbers' hadn't rung so true, he would have killed us all.

Lindsay and I stepped into the van and Emmitt closed the doors behind us to give me some level of privacy. Jackson and Emmitt alone together; what a lovely thought but I was too focused on the pain to really care. I stripped off the blood soaked shirt and felt like death would have been preferable to having my wounds dressed, especially when the rubbing alcohol touched my skin for the first time. What a collection of scars I had. _The back matches the front now, I guess_.

"Between Emmitt and me, we should be able to find enough clothes to keep you warm for the trip down the mountain."

"How far is it?" I asked.

She sighed heavily before she answered; never a good sign. "You don't want to know," she told me.

I turned away and focused on my breathing as she finished her work and when she was done, she reached into her backpack and handed me a flannel shirt, which I happily pulled on.

"You've been marked," she said matter-of-factly. "When the sun goes down, it's going to come for you first."

**Author's Note: Something tells me it would really bother Jackson to be regarded as a coward and I don't think he likes Emmitt very much.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for having the patience to review all these chapters. I feel like I've been bombarding her lately, but I've got to ride this productive streak while it lasts.**

**Thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. I really appreciate it.**


	3. Chapter 3

True to their word, Emmitt and Lindsay managed to gather a sweater, a thick pair of socks and a pair of old sneakers – slightly damp and a size too small – and I used these items as protection against the bitter cold.

And boy was it ever bitter. As the four of us walked down the trail, each with a million questions but none willing to start a dialogue, the sun disappeared and the sky turned an eerie shade of gray. That's when the blustery weather kicked in, pulling the heat from my body faster than I could ever imagine possible. I started to believe that Mother Nature herself was against me and the wind was a malevolent force. Step by frigid step we would do battle and I would continually lose. No matter how tightly I wrapped my arms around my body, it found a way in – working its way under the collar of my flannel shirt and between each and every gap in the cable knit sweater Lindsay had given me. And in my frustration, I wanted to point my finger at Jackson and scream, "He's the one! He's the one that brought me here against my will. Tried to kill me! This is his fault," but no matter how satisfying it might be to get that weight off my chest, I couldn't do it. The fact remained that Jackson still had a shotgun in his hand; a gun he refused to relinquish no matter how many times he was told it would be of no use against this…thing.

"Is it going to snow?" I asked, almost hoping it would because the novelty would make all this easier somehow. I'd never seen a sky this dreary. It lacked the intensity of the so-called calm before the storm – those vicious thunderstorms we always got back home. It was different than that, more desolate and I kept hoping that something might come from it; even it was tiny white flakes.

"It's not in the forecast, but you never know," Emmitt said. Looking up at the sky, I thought I saw a knowing smile on his face. "This is New England, kids. A cloudy sky doesn't mean a damn thing."

"Well, I'm freezing," I practically yelled. My lungs so constricted by the cold that I had to force the words out.

Emmitt's smile quickly faded and he started to unzip his jacket. "Let's see what we can do about that, shall we. You'll be swimming in this, but it'll keep you warm."

"No, I couldn't," I started to say but he waved his hand indicating he would hear none of it.

"I'm used to the cold. You on the other hand; you're not from around here are you?"

"No, I…we're from Florida."

"Florida? Well, when we get off this mountain," he said, eyeing Jackson, "you'll have to tell me what brought you up here in your pajamas and why you're dating a guy who won't give a lady his jacket when she's cold."

Then all eyes were on Jackson and he didn't like it one bit – called on the carpet yet again and painted as a coward. Feathers ruffled, he pulled the zipper of his black, leather jacket down in one fell swoop and slipped it off.

'Take it," he said dismissively as he shoved it into my hands, then realizing that he was acting like something less than a typical boyfriend, tacked on, "Lisa…Leese," for good measure.

"Thanks, sweetie," I said with a sly grin. For my part, I wasn't thrilled with being labeled his girlfriend but given the circumstances, I wasn't above having a bit of fun with it.

But the jacket was like a slice of heaven. It fit well enough and still held his body heat. I relished the warmth not to mention Jackson's facial expression when the first rush of cold air hit him. He took on my all too familiar stance; gritting his teeth and hugging himself as tightly as one could with a shotgun in hand. Now that I was able, I pulled the collar of the jacket over my face to shield my lips, which I was sure were chapped, and nose from the biting wind.

What was it about smells? I've heard they have the ability to instantaneously trigger memory – even the memories we try our hardest to forget. The warmth and his scent melded though it was with the leather, made me think of a certain bathroom on a certain airplane and a dangerous, volatile man whose presence was all encompassing.

But there had been more to him than that.

"_Did someone do that to you?"_

I had seen flickers of humanity in him that day; a few times to be exact and that's what had always bothered me the most. It was unsettling that a man would bury his emotions, disregard the concept of right and wrong and for what? Money. That's all he had, all he ever would have and for a man with no soul that wouldn't be a problem. He should have been content. But aside from our initial drink in the airport bar, he had never seemed satisfied or settled in his life. Something told me he felt unfulfilled and empty inside and being the emotional weakling that he was, couldn't summon the ability to change. I wondered why I even gave a damn.

I raised my head to look at him and I didn't see a menacing killer. The mystique had vanished in the cold air, replaced with clarity. I saw a mortal man, boyish, unimposing…human and chilled by the harsh wind just like the rest of us, if not more so.

"What?" he asked when he caught me looking at him with what I'm sure resembled pity.

_Thoughtfulness, it will be the death of me…_

"Do you…," I began to say, before Emmitt cut in.

"Sorry to interrupt but do either of you remember seeing any cabins, campsites…anything on your way up here?"

I looked to Jackson because honestly, I wouldn't know. Thanks to him, I'd been unconscious the whole time.

"Not that I can remember," he answered solemnly because we all knew what Emmitt was getting at.

"We're not going to make it down this mountain before sunset, are we? It's too far," I said.

"And I'm not getting any reception up here," Jackson added. "What about other campers? Won't there be other people coming this way?"

"Not likely this time of year. Not this far up in the mountains anyway. It's too cold for most people to bother camping out and the leaves have passed their peak. I'm still shocked we ran into you two."

"Then what were you doing up here?" Jackson asked with just a hint of suspicion.

"Following the trail of the Wendicott," Emmitt answered.

"Wendigo," Lindsay corrected.

"Yeah, that – she's more into that supernatural stuff than I am; not so supernatural anymore, I guess."

"What's a Wendigo?" I asked, feeling those fresh scratches on my back sting at the mention of the creatures name, and if I'd gotten an answer my next question would have been, 'and why is going to come for me first?"

"We'll talk about that later," Jackson said and for once Emmitt looked at him in agreement. "You didn't walk all this way. Where's your car?"

"Torn to pieces, just like yours," Lindsay answered and she looked at Emmitt with glazed eyes. "We heard the noise, so we went to check it out. It was there, ripping the car apart and then it came for us. That's when Martin…"

She didn't finish the sentence. Her voice trailed off and she turned her back on us, continuing down the trail as if she hadn't spoken at all. I looked at Emmitt and softly asked, "Who's Martin?" but he shook his head and turned, quickly catching up to Lindsay. It wasn't a rude gesture. Our eyes had locked for an instant before he turned away and his expression spoke volumes. It told me that this too could wait. There were a lot of things that would be discussed later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting off this mountain.

"Come on, Sis. We need to keep moving," I heard Emmitt whisper.

We hung back, Jackson and I. Not far, just enough to give them a bit of privacy. They didn't need us breathing down their necks at the moment. But even with that space I could hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

Martin had been a lot of things; a childhood friend, Emmitt's classmate from kindergarten all the way through college and most importantly, Lindsay's fiancée. They were both hurting, both felt the loss. I could tell as much from their brokenhearted words, the way their heads hung low and the way they leaned against each other for support. Emmitt however, put up the braver front, burying his emotions as best he could because his sister needed him now. The display tugged at my heartstrings. It made me think of my father and the importance of family in general and how I might never see mine again.

"Don't fall in love too quickly, Leese. You don't even know him," Jackson whispered, picking up on the way I watched Emmitt comfort his sister but drawing the wrong conclusions.

"That's not what I was doing," I snapped, turning to face him directly and wondering which cheek I should slap first. "What would you know about love anyway? And wipe that smile off your face; gawky, chattering teeth, you look ridiculous."

"Yeah, because I gave you my jacket," he fired back, more than just a little hurt by my words. Not what he had expected from a self professed people pleaser I'm sure, but the fact of the matter was that times had changed; I didn't cotton to people's bullshit these days, certainly not his.

"And I'm just telling you to be careful," he said in an effort to save face.

"Thanks for the recommendation. I'll take it under advisement."

"Well, you know I'd hate to see you get hurt. I know how trusting you can be."

"Ha!" The laugh was pure reflex, flying from my mouth before I could censor myself and drawing strong but thankfully, brief looks of curiosity from Emmitt and Lindsay.

"Believe me, Jack, I'm not overly trusting. Not anymore."

"Just because of our little flight? Who ever would have thought you'd fall apart so easily? I feel terrible, Leese," he teased, his cold hands rising to cover his cold heart.

"Oh please, you're not that important. You reinforced the lesson. You didn't break new ground, so keep the ego in check."

The smile fell from Jackson's face but I could see in his eyes that he wasn't entirely sure what I was referring to. _How quickly we forget…_

"The man who did that was all smiles and charisma just like you; only he had his arm in a sling and asked for my help loading groceries into his van. Arm in a sling, my God, that's what Ted Bundy used to do and I fell for it! Talk about trusting…then he pulled a knife."

I stopped talking, waiting for Jackson to chime in with a snide remark or even his condolences; I had a snappy comeback waiting for either.

I got nothing in response and a sideways glance proved that he was only watching me. Other than a clenched jaw to show tension or maybe remembrance, he didn't show any emotion. Now I was the one staring at the road, not wanting to face those dead eyes of his. And despite it all, I continued because I wanted him to know – I felt that he _needed _to know what had been left behind- a woman, strong and independent but hardened from life experience and that was a shame. Innocence and naivety were not weaknesses to be exploited. Losing them was never a good thing. They were rights, entitlements in my opinion, and damn it, they should not have been taken from me.

"I stopped dating. I stopped going _anywhere_ aside from work for two years until you came along. And like I said, you reinforced the lesson; never trust anyone…never again. So don't worry about me. I'm not falling in love, Jack."

We continued on; Jackson strangely quite, looking lost in thought while I wallowed in my intractable depression.

"Leese, you s-shouldn't talk like that," he said, breaking the silence and stuttering from the cold.

"Really and why's that?"

"You're on a slippery slope," he advised.

Slippery slope, what was that supposed to mean and what the hell did this little weasel know about anything?

"Such deep thoughts and me without a pen and paper," I said, using sarcasm to end the conversation because I didn't like where it was going. Painful memories and inner thoughts were the last thing I wanted to trade with Jackson Rippner.

In typical male fashion he absorbed the acerbic words and grunted in response; knowing that even a civil conversation was impossible at this point and the only thing left to do now was bicker. But what other type of exchange could I hope to have with the man who had forced his way into my life and trampled over those newfound feelings of trust just as I was beginning to have faith in man kind again? I wondered if a tiny part of him, the human part, felt any remorse over having done it.

But I didn't waste my time worrying about it. It didn't matter.

Hours passed. I wasn't sure how long we'd been out here but it seemed like forever and the human part of _me_ started to worry about Jackson, whose skin was beginning to match his eyes; such a lovely shade of blue. He kept his head down and I could see his lips were moving. Acting indifferent, I listened and his soft muttering told me he was counting. I wondered why but quickly took it for what it was; a way to keep his mind off things – heavy concentration to block the cold.

With everyone else staring at the ground or otherwise occupied, I was the only one that saw it; the cabin. It was small, one or two rooms, no heat or electricity but compared to being stuck out in the open, faced with dark skies and a rapidly approaching sunset; it was a fortress.

"Look over there!" I yelled and everyone perked up, particularly Jackson.

We all broke into a run, making it to the doorstep at the same time, stopping when the door creaked open before we even touched it. _That couldn't be good._

Jackson muttered something about the man with the gun going in first and he brazenly pushed his way through the crowd. Emmitt and Lindsay looked to me, hoping I would help explain Jackson's sudden valor but I had no concrete answers, only assumptions. You see, the older I get the more I understand why my grandmother was able to go to the mall and just watch people for hours on end. People are strange, interesting and sometimes predictable. Jackson fell into the predictable category; the poor guy, the lengths to which a man will go to regain his dignity – especially if he's been labeled a coward. Or it could be as simple as a cold man hoping to find a discarded jacket.

We all stood on the doorstep, our eyes trained on Jackson as he scanned the living room. There wasn't much to scan; a small room furnished with an equally small table and two folding chairs...but there was a door. An old wooden door with a large crack running down the center which looked more ominous to me than any dark New England sky; Jackson approached it with his gun held firmly in front of him and the rest of us watched and waited.

I held my breath when he opened that door because I couldn't see inside and I couldn't see his face. Seconds felt like hours as he stood there, gazing into the room.

"What's in there?" Emmitt finally asked and that was all the prompting the three of us needed. As a collective unit, we joined Jackson in the cabin unable to stand the suspense any longer.

When Jackson turned, he looked ashen and merely shook his head, closing the door before any of us could have a look inside.

"Nothing," he said softly, "nothing that needs to be seen."

We took him at his word and watched in silence as he crossed the room and approached the closet, the door to which had been left wide open.

Inside was a camouflage jacket. Jackson took it and slipped it over his shoulders, almost disappearing inside that oversized, down filled garment but he was thankful to have it.

I was about to ask if we should try to stay here or if it would be better to move on when a sudden gust of wind blew the front door wide open. We all jumped, Lindsay screamed and all of us ran towards the back door, the one Jackson had told us contained things best left unseen. Something told me that whatever was in there, no matter how horrible it might be, couldn't hold a candle to the creature that could walk through our door at any minute.

But as time past and the silence returned, my heart stopped racing, slightly, and I started to breathe again.

"Nothing, just the wind," I said and began to shut the door, taking a final look outside before I did so.

The sun was setting so fast. It would be dark soon. We would have to stay here; hunker down until morning and pray that we would stumble across a fellow human being or a working vehicle in the morning.

I had shut and almost locked the door before it was thrown open, hitting me in the face and knocking me flat on my back. A howl pierced the air and I knew for a fact that it wasn't the wind this time.

"Get the hell out of the way, Lisa!" I heard Jackson scream.

It was coming for me; a partially decomposed, outstretched hand pressed closer and I rolled away, kept on rolling until I crashed into the only piece of furniture in the cabin.

That's when I heard the first gunshot.

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**Author's Note: Wow, it's been a while since I updated this story but I hope it was worth the wait.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. It's very much appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

After my classic tuck and roll, and the deafening sound of gunfire, I scrambled to my feet only to be grabbed from behind. Having spun myself in circles, I had completely lost my point of reference. I didn't know if I was in the kitchen, the living room or somewhere in between. All I knew was that something had me by the shoulders and I screamed like a banshee, flailing my arms, hoping this pathetic display might somehow earn my freedom.

"Lisa, Lisa!" Lindsay said and the surprising level of calm in her voice pulled me from my frenzy. "Let's get out of here. The back room; we have to get to the back room, hurry!"

But did we really want to go in there? I remembered well the look on Jackson's face when he stepped out of that bedroom. He may be handsome, charming; the classic wolf in sheep's clothing, but make no mistake, this man kills people, entire families, for money. For him to back away from _anything_ looking as though he'd just seen a ghost meant that the rest of us non-homicidal, seemingly normal people would find whatever lay beyond that door too atrocious for words.

For now however, we were at a standstill. Lindsay gripped the door handle and we both turned around, fully expecting our gentlemen companions would be right behind us.

They weren't. They were rather busy at the moment….

"Emmit," Lindsay screamed with a kind of desperation in her voice that I found heartbreaking.

It was perfectly understandable after all she'd been through. I truly felt for this lovely young woman who looked to be about twenty-two years old; too young to have lost a fiancée, too young to have her older brother in harms way, which he most certainly was, approaching this thing, this Wendigo, from behind with nothing but a folding chair as a weapon. He looked more like a lion tamer than a man going into battle. And like a lion, this creature would make short work of chair should it decide to switch targets. Emmitt didn't seem to care about that, he was just trying to help a man in trouble.

Jackson…before I knew it, I called out to him, telling myself I was only keeping up the appearance of the ever loving girlfriend. I couldn't be feeling some level of concern…no, no way; that was impossible. Just perpetuating the lie for Emmitt and Lindsay's safety; it had nothing whatsoever to do with that man across the room with his shotgun and his camouflage jacket looking very heroic and too damn sexy for _my_ good! _How the hell does that little snake do it? _He looked calm even as_ it_ approached him and that alone made me not want to see him torn limb from limb. Lord knows I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I should be thankful that I was in the presence of less highly strung people.

Actually, I think what concerned me the most was that this thing didn't seem to be bothered by shotgun blasts. It would fall back a few feet, shake it off and keep right on coming. And unlike the movies, Jackson did run out of bullets.

Then there was the way it approached; bobbing and weaving, doing its best to maneuver him into a corner – something Jackson rolled to the side and leapt over the kitchen table to avoid – with an awareness that was all too human. No matter where Jackson went or what he did, it pursued him relentlessly. Here I thought I was the one that had been marked.

"Get out of here," Emmitt yelled to both of us as he hurled the chair.

Lindsay and I both watched as it sailed through the air, hitting its target between the shoulder blades before falling to the ground. There was no harm done, Emmitt had only captured its attention, buying Jackson precious seconds and nothing more.

"What are you doing? We won't leave you here," Lindsay said.

"You're not leaving us," he answered, picking up another, _the last_, chair. "I'm just going to help my buddy, Jack out of a jam and then we're right behind you."

_Where have you been all my life_, I wondered as Emmitt's words managed to comfort _everyone_ in the room.

Still, all reassurances aside, I wound up having to push Lindsay through the door.When we entered that room, I shut the door behind us, leaving it unlocked in the hopes that they wouldn't be far behind. We stood there, watching, listening; both of us too frightened to turn around and see what Jackson had warned us shouldn't be seen. I'm sure the same thoughts were running through our minds, more or less, although it was she who had more at stake.

Would this be the last time we saw the two of them alive again? If things took a horrible turn, would we be able to leave them behind? I didn't know if I could do that; turn my back and listen to the terrified screams of fellow human beings as I ran.

What a bizarre twist of fate that the man who had brought me up here, intent on killing me, if that really had been the plan, might very well die trying to protect me. I guess stranger things have happened, but this had to be at the top of the weird shit list.

I'm also willing to bet that she too was haunted by the images she saw before that door swung shut; Jackson standing against the wall bending forward and pulling the right cuff of his pants up, revealing a black strap of fabric that secured a rather large knife around his lower leg, clearly his last line of defense.

Then there was Emmitt with another chair in hand, already within striking distance of the creatures' disproportionably long arms and yet still, he moved closer; his face filled with determination.

It looked like a suicide mission. Then the door swung shut.

"I have an idea," we heard Emmitt yell. "I need…," but his voice was cut off by an inhuman shriek.

"Please let that be Jackson making good use of his knife," I chanted and found myself rocking back and forth for comfort.

"What, what do you need?" Jackson asked when the screaming died down.

So far, so good; the two of them were still alive.

"Time…give me time."

Then something slammed against the wall just to the right of the door. I heard the sound of wood splintering, all kinds of things falling to the floor with a clatter.

"Oh, God," Lindsay began to whimper and she covered her ears, her resolve starting to slip even as mine slowly returned. "We just came up here for fun. We were going to tell ghost stories, freak each other out. This can't be real."

"It's going to be okay," I promised. "Jackson and Emmitt are…tough guys. They'll be here before you know it."

Feeling it was the right thing to do; I turned to Lindsay, looked into those gentle but frightened brown eyes and wrapped my arms around her even though it felt terrible awkward for me. Years ago, my hugs were more forthcoming. I was a legendary hugging machine but now, with the exception of handshakes, I'm not known as the demonstrative type. These were desperate times however, and they called for desperate measures.

She leaned into my embrace, wrapping her arms around me and eagerly accepting the comfort I had begrudingly offered. Things were going well until I looked away from my hand, which was patting her gently on the back, and glanced about the room. After that, my grip on her tightened to the point that she must have thought I was half boa constrictor. The truth of the matter was I'd been caught off guard; not even thinking that by the simple act of turning around, I would see something so horrific that I would wind up needing _her_ for support.

There they were; two men, one lying on the floor, the other on the bed and from the looks of things, they'd been dead for awhile now – many long, cold hours, if not days.

Unfortunately, I've seen a dead body before. Hell, I put him there. It's not something I'm particularly proud of even if it was done in defense of me and my father. It doesn't change the fact that I revved my engine and drove my car straight through him, leaving him lifeless on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood. The sight of that dead man had stayed with me thoughout many sleepless nights; to this very day. It was a horrible sight, but these two men…they were the new champions. Even if we made it out of this alive, I would never sleep peacefully again in my life, not ever.

The man on the floor, the one lying less than four feet away from us, was on his stomach. I couldn't see his face and judging by the puddle of coagulated blood that surrounded his head that was probably for the best. In a way I was thankful that I saw him first, it gave me a little warning, a bit of time to prepare myself. Still, I don't know what possessed me to look up. The second body, otherwise known as the God-awful mess strewn across the bed, made me gag several times which was a strong warning to Lindsay in and of itself.

Definitely male, his arms and legs were fully clothed, untouched actually, but everything in and around his midsection was completely shredded, leaving him exposed. It was nothing that gave me cause to blush; there wasn't much left to see. My eyes didn't know where to go so they just kept scanned him up and down, finally coming to rest on his face which was also unscathed though contorted into an agonized grimace. Had I been looking for a lesson in human anatomy, I would have been in heaven because he was split down the middle and pulled wide open from his chest to his groin. The left side of his rib cage hung open, revealing nothing underneath. The right side had been bent inward, cracked and splintered under some heavy weight.

That conjured up horrible visions of the monster perched atop its victim, clawing and tearing, trying to get in, and I could only hope that this unfortunate man had been so paralyzed by fear that he couldn't feel a thing. Eaten alive from the inside out, his death couldn't have been quick. Another downward glance and another urge to vomit; it wasn't that I wanted to see his intestines or any of his inner workings for that matter, but the fact that they weren't there troubled me even more.

His friend must have walked in during all of this. In the wrong place at the wrong time, he must have tried to intercede, to stop this attack before his friend was devoured.

It hadn't worked out so well.

"Why?" I whispered. My breathing became shallow as the very thought of being eaten alive started me shaking again.

The loud, crash and huge commotion that followed stopped my breathing completely. I couldn't draw a breath, not until I got some sign that Jackson and Emmitt were okay.

"Nice shot," Emmitt yelled and I finally exhaled. Still alive, thank God, and from the inhuman screams that followed, they seemed to doing some damage. I wish I could have seen it.

"Throw it over here," Jackson said urgently.

What the hell was going on out there? By now, I was dying of curiosity, unable to even guess what Jackson could be talking about. However, the one thing that really struck me was the way Jackson and Emmitt were suddenly working as a unit. It was if they'd known each other their whole lives; adversaries to teammates in a matter of seconds.

Then, without fail, there were more screams. Jackson, Emmitt and now Lindsay, who had dared to turn around and like me was wishing she hadn't.

"Oh…oh, God," she began, and then fell into a sitting position covering her mouth and gagging just like I had.

"Listen to me, Lindsay; they're dead. There's nothing we can do for them so just pretend they're not even there."

"Pretend they aren't there? But they're so…so…,"

"I know, believe me I know, and I know it's hard but don't worry about them, don't even think about them. They can't hurt us," and after I said that, I pointed to the only window in this room, hoping that a task might help both of us muscle past the horrible sights and smells. "We need to find an escape route. We may have to get out of here in a hurry and we have to be ready. I don't want to wait until that thing is the room before I find out that that window over there is frozen shut, okay?"

"Okay," she said, rising to her feet.

I must say, this girl impressed the heck out of me. For such a young woman, she's got it together; far more level headed than I was at her age. She went to the window and gave the faintest smile when it popped open with little effort.

Well, she may have been happy but I certainly wasn't. Outside, the sky was painted in various shades of red, blue and purple, looking effectively bruised and ominous. And to add insult to injury, it was snowing heavily.

There were only two words to capture what I was feeling at this particular moment. Only two words that could truly communicate the gravity of the situation; what else can one say when plagued with an endless string of curses and bad luck?

"Oh shit."

There you go…_perfection_.

In a flash, the door flew open with such force that the door knob sank into the wall leaving an unsightly dent. Lindsay and I both cried out in alarm and then the commotion that had been outside was here with us. Jackson and Emmitt stormed in slamming the door behind them and without a word each grabbed an end of the bed – body included – and braced it against the door. All the while the air became thick with the smell of smoke and wet dog…a lovely combination. I had a million questions but I didn't say a thing. For now, I was just thankful we were all together again.

"Get over here, both of you. Help us hold this," Jackson ordered and we arrived not a moment too soon.

It slammed against the door, opening it a few inches before Lindsay and I charged ahead, using the weight and force of our bodies to drive it back. Digging our heels into the ground against its repeated efforts, we found that as a group, we couldn't be overpowered.

A few more attempts to gain entry and then its cries as well as its assault came to an abrupt end. Everything was silent but I knew we weren't safe. Nothing in life could be so easy.

Sure enough, it took a different approach. The claws that could easily tear a human being to pieces were certainly not deterred by a wooden door. The very frame began to shake, the wood splintered and it seemed likely that we would all be diving through that window in a matter of seconds.

"Shit, we have to get out of here," Jackson said.

"The window," I responded, looking over my shoulder. He followed my gaze, taking heart in the fact that we did have a mode of egress. Then his eyes fell to the floor, onto a pack of cigarettes that I hadn't noticed before. They must have fallen from one of the hunters pockets during the melee. Why they were so important to Jackson was beyond me but he stepped away from the bed, scooping them up before he turned around and surveyed the rest of the room.

"What?" I asked, because I knew that look on his face all too well. He had an idea.

"You need to hold this steady; I'm going to…,"

He stopped in mid sentence. _He_ stopped because_ it_ stopped and when I summoned the courage to peak through the jagged holes it had left in the shoddy door I saw only empty space and a couple of smoldering table legs.

"It, it must have gone around the other way," I mumbled as I watched Emmitt readying another pair of table legs; makeshift torches should the need arise.

"Watch the windows," Emmitt warned while Jackson began tossing the room.

I took it upon myself to pull the sheets from the bed, covering both of the bodies; partly because seeing them was a constant reminder of how close to death we all were and because I felt they had gone through enough, both meeting brutal ends. They shouldn't be left on display like this.

Emmitt watched as went about my task, a somber expression on his face. "Poor guys, probably looking for bears and they found this," he said quietly and that was all he said before his focused returned to the window.

_Now we know why there's no one else around_…

With that job done, I stepped behind Jackson who was so engrossed in his search that he jumped when I touched his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What does it look like? There's no radio here so I'm getting everything together. They had a first aid kit, a compass…some candles; if we have to take off, this stuff will come in handy."

"You mean it will come in handy for you when you leave us behind?"

"Do you really think I'd do that?" he asked with a scowl on his face.

"Yes, I do," I admitted. "Because you've never given me reason to think otherwise. Not unless you managed to find some honor while you were rummaging through their belongings."

"What happened to you, Leese? You used to be so…,"

"So what?" I asked, keeping my right leg on full alert, ready to show him the Lisa Reisert version of The Nut Cracker if he dared insult me again.

"Sweet."

"Life doesn't favor the sweet, Jack. If it did than Cynthia would be President of the United States. Instead she's putting up with people's bullshit and working the night shift just like I used to do. She'll stay in that job forever, driving around in a mini van with a 'Support Your Right to Arm Bears,' bumper sticker on the back, living like a vampire, thinking she's happy because she's do damn _sweet_."

"You could help her along, give her pointers, make sure she advances," he reasoned as he eyed a couple of kerosene lamps on the nightstand. "I'm sure you're not above favoritism."

"I'm not her teacher and you're not my life coach," I fired back earning yet another sideways glance. Talking to him was useless, every time I started to win an argument, we'd either be interrupted or he'd respond in grunts and refuse to make eye contact.

Making a conscious effort to not waste any more time, I decided to switch to more important topics.

"I have two questions for you, Jack. Does kerosene freeze?" and for the next question I allowed my voice to drop to a whisper, "And did you really bring me up here just to kill me? You seem so intent on making me a better person. I don't think you were going to kill me at all."

He thought about it for a minute, looking at me with what I thought was disappointment, overall surprise at my current attitude before he answered. "I don't know and…I don't know. Now that I see you for what you are, I have to wonder if a bullet to the head would even register. You seem pretty dead inside already."

"What the hell does that mean?" I bellowed.

"Be quiet, you two, save the lovers quarrel till after we get off this mountain," Emmitt chastised without even bothering to look at us.

Jackson listened, quieted down and turned away as if the conversation was over. What Emmitt said was logical, I'd give him that, but I was sick and tired of people referring to Jackson as my boyfriend or worse yet, lover – _man,_ I_ hated that word –_and there was no way in hell I was going to let that 'dead inside' comment pass.

"What did you mean by that?" I whispered over his shoulder, my voice sounding more like the hiss of a venomous snake than anything else.

"You're a smart girl, you figure it out," he responded in an equally curt tone of voice. "And no, I wasn't going to kill you. I was going to make you dig a hole with your bare hands, lay in it and put a gun to your head. I was hoping to scare the shit out of you, literally."

"Then what, drive me home?" I asked, utterly appalled at the notion.

"Not exactly; I was going to drop you off about a mile from the ranger's station, let you walk from there."

"That was your ultimate revenge; your master plan?"

"Yup, to ride off into the sunset knowing that you were cooling your heels in the ranger's office with a load in your pants, waiting for the police and dear old dad to come to your rescue. That would have been pretty damned satisfying."

"You have a twisted, no, sick sense of humor," I said, once again filled with the desire to slap him into oblivion.

"Well, when the police and your former employers are out to get you, it helps if you're able to smile."

Without fail, he started to snicker, tickled pink in light of this shocking revelation. I hated to break it to him, but there was a little problem with that arrangement. "But they're not after you, Jack. They think you died in a prison riot. If things had gone according to plan I would have told the police that you were my abductor and they'd know you were very much alive."

"No, they would have thought you cracked. Let's face it, Leese, I've been keeping tabs on you since the day I stepped foot in jail. If you freaked out during yet another business trip, or annual performance evaluation, people wouldn't have been shocked. You're wound so fucking tight; they would have wondered what took so long."

"Blow it out your ass, Jack. I should have killed you when I had the chance. Remember that, when you were bleeding on my floor, bullet ridden, ass thoroughly _kicked_?" I asked, putting emphasis on that last word, rubbing it in.

The look on his face almost made this trip worthwhile. He was stunned – completely awestruck – and it's not because this is the first time he's been spoken to in such a manner. I'm willing to bet he's heard far worse than that in his day. But cutting, hurtful words like that, he never expected to hear them coming from me; nobody does.

I guess I started being more direct, yes, that's a good word for it, the instant I stepped off that plane and the trend did not subside over time. Oddly enough, the more I started telling people where they could get off, the faster I moved up the corporate ladder. People either wanted a woman like me on their team or they couldn't wait to get rid of me. Either way, I got a promotion and some extra cash in my pocket each time they moved me along. Being a bitch has proven quite profitable.

My dad couldn't be happier with his newly assertive, highly successful daughter but I have to admit, I tone it_ way_ down when he's around. Why do I do that? Let me put it this way; when Jackson followed me home, marking the beginning of our infamous showdown, I could have gotten away. I snuck out of the house. It had been easy and I could have run to the neighbors, called the cops from a safe place. Instead, I went right back inside to face off against a knife wielding maniac and I did so without a moments hesitation because I refused to leave my dad behind.

Obviously, the man means a lot to me and I'd hate for him to regard me with anything less than glowing admiration.

Deep down, I know I'm not being assertive. I really am on a slippery slope; slowly becoming cynical, bitter, sometimes nasty, and I don't know what to do about that. Dr. Phil hasn't written a self help book for rape survivors/terrorist plot foilers yet.

"Shut up, Leese. You're not tough, you're boring, just another spoiled brat," and when I started to interject, he raised his hand, telling me to stop. "You've had ample opportunity to speak your mind. Let someone else have a turn."

But I wasn't in the mood to listen; I turned my back to him and tried to walk away. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he grabbed my hand and pulled me back. After all, you don't walk away from a man like that. He didn't last this long by shying away from conflict but when he caught my attention again, when he knew I'd have to listen, he didn't say a thing, just shoved a piece of plastic into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

My fingers ran over the item, tracing over the flat surface and smooth curves. I know a Bic lighter when I feel one. The biggest shock was that he'd given it to me.

He kept his eyes on me the whole time, finding pleasure in my slack jawed, speechless reaction; proof positive that actions speak louder than words.

"Where did you find this, Jackson?"

"Tucked into the pack of cigarettes, I thought you might want to hold onto it," he said, taking a challenging step toward me but keeping his voice calm and even. "And for the record, I'm not a coward."

"And I'm not dead inside," I countered, placing the lighter in my pocket for safe keeping.

"Prove it," he teased, as he began to turn away. "Give _me_ reason to think otherwise."

The timing of that remark could not have been better. I don't know why it chose to return at that particular moment; drawn by our angry voices or the hope that we considered ourselves safe and as a result, had let our guard down, but whatever the reason, it was back. It slammed against the door even as we all rushed forward to hold it back but it had long since abandoned brut force. It was clawing away, shredding through that door with such intensity that it wasn't a matter of _if_ it would get through, but when.

"Everyone out!" Emmitt yelled. "Lindsay and Lisa, you're first."

Lindsay was the first one out, straddling the edge, hesitating for a second. "It was always there. It never left," she said before she disappeared into night.

That made no sense to me. We weren't talking about a dainty creature. If it had been out there, listening to our conversation, which again, didn't seem to make any sense, surely we would have seen it.

"Your turn, Lisa," Emmitt continued, waving me toward the window and interrupting my train of thought.

I didn't budge. It wasn't the snow that stopped me or the cold weather I knew was waiting. I was sick of the testosterone in this room. Stand back little lady, let the big, strong men take care of you.

"I don't think so," I responded, pulling the lighter from my pocket and grabbing an oil lamp from the nightstand.

Now I don't know a damn thing about oil lamps. I was only hoping for two things; that the oil inside was something more than a noncombustible, frozen block and that this tiny lighter I held in my hand actually worked.

"What are you doing? You have to get out of here now," Jackson said giving me a substantial push toward the open window.

I stood my ground. Regaining the two steps his shove had taken. I stared him down, eyes burning, nostrils flaring, trying my hardest to appear menacing.

"I'm proving a point," I answered. Then I flicked the lighter, smiling at the yellow and orange flame. If that didn't emphasize my position, I don't know what would.

Lighter in one hand, projectile in the other, Jackson understood my message. I was an adult, more than capable of defending myself and I didn't need to be led around by the arm.

Like I said, I don't know a damn thing about oil lamps.

But in two seconds, I'm going to find out.

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**Author's Note: I know it's been ages since I updated this story. The holidays, visiting family members, sick babies; all have kept me from my computer. But now I'm back and I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it does end on yet another cliffhanger. **

**Thanks again to emptyvoices for her constant encouragement and to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review, that goes to anonymous reviewers as well!**

**I hope you all enjoyed the holidays and be sure to have a safe and happy new year!**


	5. Chapter 5

When I was sixteen I had a crush on the star quarterback of my high school football team. His name was Peter Simmons and he was stunning; I mean indescribably beautiful. The guy should have been on display at the Vizcaya Museum & Gardens, with a little sign posted next to him that read _Adonis_.

Before then, I didn't even know what a football was, but the sight of him stepping off the field – tall, sweaty and looking damn sexy with those streaks of black under his eyes – turned me into an avid fan. So there I was, cheering for him at every single game even though I didn't know a touchdown from a first down….or whatever. Hell, I once lost $5, betting on whether or not our team would make the game winning field goal, and then I lost another $5 on the instant replay. Pretty sad, but we love sick girls will take an interest in just about anything if it brings us closer to the object of our affection.

Come to find out that Peter had a tea cup poodle named Tasselhoff VanRipkin, though Pete always called him Taz because it sounded macho. He would carry that dog around with him everywhere he went; kept it in a bright blue canvas bag, and let me tell you, that dog was anything but macho. _Neither was Pete_. I later discovered that my high school crush was as gay as the day is long.

On the bright side, once I came to terms with the fact that he and I were _not_ going to get married, live in a mansion and have half a dozen babies, he and I, and even little Tasselhoff – God rest his fluffy soul – became the best of friends.

What's my point?

My point is that nothing in my life, not a single, God damn thing, goes according to plan.

Take the oil lamp for instance. When I threw that thing I expected an explosion. It's oil, it's flammable and I threw a big container of it. Kaboom, right?

Wrong; it was a great shot, there was no denying that, but when the lamp shattered, there was no flare-up. The oil ignited and a fire started; I even got some on that hideous thing and it _did_ catch fire. Unfortunately, so did the bed, the door and pretty much the entire cabin; it all went up like a book of matches.

"Get out, get out," Jackson kept yelling as he grabbed hold of my arm.

I couldn't help but wonder if I had done the right thing. It was gone, but we couldn't stay here. Did that qualify as a victory or a defeat? I don't know…story of my life, I guess.

I couldn't think. I was being dragged toward the window, coming to an abrupt stop when my hip collided with the dresser; bone meeting wood, never a good thing. I wanted to smack Jackson, or at the very least, give him a _thank you_ for the giant bruise that was no doubt forming at this very moment.

But as I kept on moving and I heard the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet, I felt compelled to look down.

I saw a picture; a picture that should have meant nothing to me, but given the circumstances, I thought it was highly significant. There were three men, two I recognized as the ill fated hunters, whose bodies would be left to burn, but the third troubled me. His presence alone was disconcerting because it got my mind going in a hundred different directions – who was he, _where_ was he – but there was something else, something I couldn't quite place.

He was the same height as the others, rugged, with unruly hair and a thick beard. Maybe it was the Grizzly Adams thing he had going on that made him seem familiar, but before I had time to think about it, I was shoved through an open window. After the cold air hit me like a punch in the face, the only thought that lingered was the whereabouts of this mystery man and for his sake, I hope he didn't accompany his friends on their hunting trip; at least, not this time.

I landed in the snow, which was already starting to accumulate, and when I looked around, all I could see was black and white. The sun had set and according to my panic stricken mind, it should have been dark, but the snow seemed to have its own peculiar luminescence, not to mention a playful spirit; light flakes would dance through the air one minute, and then turn to sleet, driven by the heavy winds, pelting me and making me feel as if my skin were about to freeze and split open the next. And throughout its relentless attack, it spoke to me with a voice all its own; a distinctive hiss, a constant reminder, in case I had somehow managed to forget, that I was doomed.

I was also painfully aware that Jackson's leather jacket, which had been fine when the sun was out, just wasn't cutting it anymore. I closed my eyes and wished that I was back home, viewing the harsh winter weather the way God had intended; via photographs while lounging on the beach drinking a Seabreeze.

"Lindsay!" I called, unable to see more than five feet in front of me and suddenly terrified because she had been out here all this time on her own.

I didn't get an answer.

"Jackson!" I yelled next, because he should have been right behind me.

I took a few steps forward and then stopped, realizing that if it weren't for the burning building, I would have not point of reference.

And I had yet to hear a reply from anyone.

_Please, please somebody answer._

I hated this feeling…needing comfort and reassurance; _not_ being dead inside. I spent so much time simplifying my life, pushing people away, because I was afraid of what might happen if I allowed them in. If you let yourself have friends, if you have hopes and dreams, they can be taken away. But if you hang onto nothing, if you don't have high expectations, you can't be disappointed. There's a relative safety in that.

That's what I always told myself; that I could handle it all on my own. But it seems that no matter what I do and how hard I try, I always end up needing people and I didn't want to be out here alone. I wouldn't make it through the night by myself and despite my morose attitude, I didn't want to die.

I started to dwell on the decision I had made; part of me wishing we could have stayed in that cabin, mutilated bodies and all, because it would have been warmer, though not necessarily safer. The other part wondered if the fire was a good thing. Even if the beast wasn't as flammable as that poorly built shack, maybe the fire itself would draw some attention?

But would it? There were no trees in the immediate area. The ground was damp and now covered with a layer of snow. There weren't exactly a lot of people around; would the fire just burn itself out and go unnoticed?

One inhuman cry and I was ready to move. I had no idea plan of action, I couldn't even see, but I knew one thing for certain, if that creature was heading left, I was going right. It was as simple as that. And I tried to convince myself that if I couldn't see it, it couldn't see me; that's the way it's supposed to work…right?

Again, not exactly, because I saw it come tearing around the corner of the cabin, a pillar of yellow and orange as it headed straight toward me. Acting on impulse, I did the stupid thing. I put my head down and ran for my life, having no idea where I was or where I was going.

I ran until the cold air made it nearly impossible to breathe. I ran until something stopped me. A log, a rock, I didn't know what it was; only that it tripped me up and caused me to land flat on my face. When I got up and turned around, there was nothing; no monster, no burning cabin, just a wall of white and me, Lisa Reisert, in the middle of frickin' nowhere.

Looking towards my feet, wondering what had brought me down; I was crushed to see Lindsay's back pack. "Oh God, please no," I whimpered as I picked it up and clutched it to my chest. Not them, not the last two good people on the face of the earth…

As quickly as it started, my rest ended. In the distance, but way too close for comfort, a yellow and orange flame emerged and even though I stood there, completely motionless, it came toward me. I could hear the cries, partially obscured by the howling wind, and swinging that backpack over my shoulders, because I would probably need the supplies it carried, I ignored my burning lungs and ran again.

Cold, tired and disheartened, I kept looking over my shoulder, and each time I looked, the flame was closer. It was only a matter of time, but I kept on going, and eventually, I didn't bother looking over my shoulder at all. Whatever was going to happen would happen; nothing I could do would change that.

Of course, I still screamed like a banshee when something grabbed me from behind. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck and then I went down, landing face first in the snow for a second time, only now, there was a crushing weight on top of me.

"Lisa…Leese," I heard Jackson yell as he rolled me onto my side. "What are you doing? You almost ran into the brook."

Sure enough, when I quieted down and cleared my head enough to actually listen, I could hear the running water. If he hadn't stopped me, I would have gone right in.

"You okay?" he asked, and all I could see were those eyes; the ones that could focus and guide him through near white-out conditions through sheer force of will. In his right hand, he carried one of those infamous table legs, the flame it issued casting him in a warm light that made him appear otherworldly.

And now I, the one who had been so desperate to be heard moments ago, couldn't answer. I just shook my head and covered my face, because it wasn't the cold weather and raging winds that were causing my eyes to water.

"I thought I was alone," I finally managed, remembering another time when I had been forced to lay on unforgiving ground and had felt a heavy weight pressing against me. I had done a lot of listening that day…while I waited for it to end.

_I remembered the footsteps that approached leisurely, then halted. I remember how I turned my head and saw her. I didn't know her, had never seen her before but when our eyes met, I issued a silent plea for help. There was nothing more I could do._

_Her jaw dropped and she ran; she just ran away. I thought she must be going for help; that she would run back to the store, call 9-1-1, or scream because I couldn't, not with a knife at my throat. That hope of rescue was the only thing that got me through it. I kept telling myself to be strong, just hold on; help would be here any minute. _

_But then it was over. He lifted himself off of me, acting as calm as could be, and even had the nerve to apologize._

"_Sorry," he told me. "I'm not a bad guy, I just have these urges."_

_Well, thank you very much. That makes me feel much better._

_He hopped into his van and took off. The woman who had seen us was of no concern to him because apparently, he knew more about human nature than I did. He knew she'd rather run away than get involved. He was right; help never came._

_And there I was, laying on the hot asphalt trying to sort it all out, wondering why the parking lot that had been so busy just one hour ago, forcing me to park closer to Cuba than the entrance to the super market, was now deserted. Wondering why I had been targeted by an apologetic rapist and why no one had come to my aid._

_It took time for me to notice my physical injury; the scar I'll wear for the rest of my life. When I did, I sat up and began to gather my belongings. After he had pulled the knife, I had dropped my purse, spilling the contents in a hundred different directions. I don't know why, but I became obsessed with collecting every last item, as if they represented the pieces of my life and if I could just put things back where they belonged…_

_The moment was surreal. All of this transpired in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes and I was turned into a husk; nothing but a shadow of my former self. _

_My groceries were still in my shopping cart, waiting for me beside my car, my ice cream melting in the summer sun, and I started thinking about how my parents would react, how hurt they would be if they knew what had happened. _

_By the time I picked up my wallet, I knew what I was going to do. _

_I took the cash out, held it in the air and when the next strong breeze came, I let it go. When I called my father from the emergency room an hour later, I told him I'd been robbed at knifepoint. Silly me, I had put up a fight and earned a slash across the chest for my efforts._

"_But I got my credit cards back," I misleadingly boasted._

_He was furious, "if someone pulls a knife and asks for your money; give it to them, Leese, don't resist."_

"_Sorry, Dad; it will never happen again."_

"_Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, and little did I know he would ask me that same question five times a day, everyday, for the rest of my natural life._

"_Yes, I'll be fine," I told him, secretly worried that he would turn to me at any moment and say, 'something's not adding up, Leese." _

_Well, if he had any suspicions, he never voiced them, although he did insist on staying with me that night and in retrospect, that was probably a good thing. _

_It was a hard night. I woke up every hour feeling sick to my stomach and I spent the better part of what should have been restful hours, sobbing into my pillow, afraid that my father would hear._

_But I needed him to be there that night. I didn't want to be alone._

_I don't want to be alone…_

"And obviously, you're not. Come on, Leese. Get up."

He pulled me to my feet, but didn't break my train of thought entirely. I wish he had. Right now I was stuck with the horrid realization that I spend the majority of my time both angry and frustrated beyond words, or feeling cheated in one way or another. What kind of a life was that?

The only thing that did catch my attention was his tone of voice. Sarcastic, which was not unusual for him, but a little too mocking; the voice he uses when he needs to hide because he's actually feeling human emotions.

Our eyes met and I saw...I don't know what I saw, concern, compassion? Before I could take a closer look, he turned away.

"Emmitt and Lindsay, have you seen them? Are they nearby?" I asked frantically, calling an abrupt end to my pity party and praying that we hadn't been separated so early in the game. She had made a comment earlier, something like, 'it was always here, it never left,' and I wanted to know what she meant by that. Actually, I wanted to pump that girl for information because she seemed to know a hell of a lot more about this thing than Jackson and I did.

"Up there," he said, and in the distance, farther away than I would have liked, I saw another orange light. "I told them we would catch up."

That last sentence floored me. Jackson Rippner had gone out, by himself, in search of me; madness. And I started to wonder what would have happened if he had been in the parking lot that day. If, while walking to his car, he had seen what was happening, would he have gotten involved?

I think the answer is _yes_. How's that for ironic?

"Jackson….thanks. Thanks for coming back."

And that was enough. Anything more would have left both of us feeling awkward.

He looked at me, using a devilish grin as his response. It shouldn't have made me feel uncomfortable, but it did. Not even I could ignore the power of that smirk, probably because it drew attention to those gorgeous lips of his. I know it sounds bizarre, but with those extraordinary baby blues, his long eyelashes, and flawless skin, I can't decide if I'm attracted to him, or jealous.

I could have stood out there, admiring him all night, and knowing him, he would have allowed it, but the sound of splashing water just beyond our field of vision wiped the smile from his face and set both of us in motion.

"Get down," he hissed, as if I actually needed him to tell me that hiding would be a good idea, and he dragged me behind a grouping of shrubs, plunging the torch into the snow and dousing the flames. "I don't think it saw us."

"What are we going to do?" I whispered while I watched that second light, Emmitt and Lindsay, fading away.

"Shh, don't make a sound."

We both kept our mouths shut. I hardly even breathed, not wanting to risk being heard.

I could hear it out there, trudging through the snow, little more than a yard away. Neither one of us dared look; we stayed there, huddled together, perfectly silent, waiting for it to move along.

It seemed like an eternity. For the longest time it just stood there, sniffing the air. I thought for sure that nose would lead it right to us and when I turned my head, I saw Jackson, his eyes wide like saucers and his hand resting on his leg, ready to pull that knife if it came to that.

Then I heard a snort come from directly above us. It was there, just beyond the bushes and for once, I was thankful for that bone chilling wind; the only thing that prevented this beast from pin pointing our exact location. I heard it growl, probably in frustration because it could smell us all around, knew we were close, but just couldn't seem to find us.

_Please, God; don't let it look down._

Jackson finally turned to me, both of us suppressing a need to scream when it moved again, stepping to the side of the bushes and moving ahead.

Without prompting, I scurried to the other side of those shrubs, crouching out of sight incase that thing decided to look over its shoulder; Jackson did the same.

But it didn't look back. It kept walking ahead and my heart sank when I realized it was following the light of Emmitt's torch like a beacon.

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**Author's Note: Finally… I have updated this story! I hope it was worth the wait.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone who took the time to read and/or review.**

**I know we're all concerned about Emmitt and Lindsay, but keep in mind these are tough, resourceful kids. Besides, Jackson and Lisa needed a little one-on-one time, don't you agree?**


	6. Chapter 6

We stayed there, huddled together, watching its hulking form move further away until it was enveloped by the rush of heavy snow and seemed to vanish all together.

It was selfish, I know, but I felt relieved. For the first time in hours, I wouldn't have to run and that was unbelievably comforting because I had a feeling that if the thing _had _turned around and come for us, I wouldn't have had the strength. But I didn't kick my feet up and rest my eyes; the fact that I so desperately wanted to helped keep me awake. Physical and mental fatigue; was this the start of hypothermia?

I started thinking about a lot of things, trying to keep my mind occupied and alert. Again I kept pondering my crazed polar bear theory, wishing it were true but knowing it could never be that simple. But there were similarities. I knew for sure that like a polar bear, this thing had the perfect camouflage and if you weren't constantly on your toes it could literally appear out of nowhere. And I also knew that it could rip a human being to shreds without the slightest degree of difficulty.

Our only advantage was that we knew where it was going...or so we thought.

"Come on, come on," Jackson hissed, looking at the void where the monster had just been, then back to the light of Emmitt's torch.

Suddenly, the light went out and now it was Jackson's turn to sigh in relief.

"We had a deal; wait five minutes, then kill the lights," he said when I nudged him looking for answers.

"Please don't say the word _kill, _Jackson," I demanded, _as if things weren't bleak enough already._

"Sorry…extinguish."

"So that means we're not going to see them again. We're on our own?"

"For now," he said.

I kept telling myself to stay positive, finding it kind of amusing that of the two of us, Jackson was the more upbeat. We had a few things to be happy about, I suppose. I was still in possession of Lindsay's backpack and hopefully, assuming we got the chance, we would find a map, compass, anything that might help us get out of here. And of course, once we made it to the bottom of the mountain, Emmitt and Lindsay would be waiting for us…of course. They were smart, resourceful kids. It was more than likely that they would beat us to civilization and once they did that, they would send help. There, see; hope all around.

But in my current situation, snow covered and wearing only a leather jacket and sneakers, I knew in my heart of hearts that I wouldn't last the night; not like this.

I could see it now; a search party would go into the woods and find both of us standing next to each other or in each other's arms, frozen solid. Ugh, what would my father make of that? Bye-bye optimism: Hello despair. I'm telling you, it seems that every time I start feeling down; life puts on a pair of cleats and kicks me in the ass.

"Why me?" I groaned, drawing a less than concerned glance from Jackson. Not that I was expecting anything more.

"Let's get moving," he said and cautiously, we both rose to our feet looking in all directions incase this thing was even smarter than we thought and was circling around behind us.

But was I really safe with Jackson? He said he hadn't brought me up here to kill me, and he _had_ come looking for me when I took off into the storm, but let's face it; Jackson isn't your everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of guy. Who could guess his motivations? It could be heroism, or little more than a _no one's going to kill Lisa but me_ line of thinking. Circumstances gave me few options, however, so I aired on the side of caution and stayed to his left, never letting him get too far ahead or behind. Kind of strange when you think about it; I didn't want him close by, but I didn't want him far away either. That seemed to be our relationship in a nutshell.

On we went, with Jackson hugging the edge of the hillside as we climbed the steady rise, although I had no idea or presence of mind to ask why he was doing that or where we were going. My legs were so cold they actually burned and I knew he had to be feeling the same. After rolling in the snow, what little body heat we had had managed to melt the fluffy, white stuff. My shoes, socks and pants from the knees down were pretty much soaked and when the wind blew, it was almost painful. No, not almost, it was painful, no sense sugar coating it.

Our only consolation was that the storm, if that's what it had been, was tapering off. Before long, it stopped all together and the stars came out; the light of the full moon reflecting off the snow casting everything in navy and white, it looked eerie, desolate, further proof that we were utterly alone, and it was surprisingly bright.

"Keep your antenna up, Leese, that thing could be anywhere," he warned, still looking to his left.

Always looking at the side of the mountain; I was about to ask him what gives, when I tripped on a shrub, beaver, dead body, whatever may be up here in the woods of New England. Truly, I didn't want to know and I found myself stumbling to the side and back, trying to regain my steps before I tumbled downward and fell to the bottom of the hill. I knew that if that happened, if I rolled all the way down, I wouldn't be able to start back up again. But I couldn't stop myself. I kept falling backward; going and going until I landed on my butt in a cave that smelled like…rot. It's a simple word, rot, but there's no other way to describe it and once again, I was plunged into total darkness. In my quest to stay optimistic, I did note that I'd rather be in a dark cave with a rotting carcass than a living monster, and whatever was in here was giving off some form of heat. Nasty as it was, I needed that warmth desperately.

"Leese," Jackson whispered and the frightened little girl in me got up and ran to him, which was an embarrassment of the highest order. Man, I hated to do it, but once the thought hit me that this cave was more a lair or possibly a dumping ground, I wanted to get the hell out.

To my surprise, when I ran into him he didn't budge. He pushed me further in, actually wanting to stay in this dark, smelly pit.

"Jackson," I began. _Are you nuts_, I wanted to ask but thought better of it.

"Shh, keep it down, Leese. Do you still have that lighter I gave you?"

"Yeah," I answered, fishing it out of my pocket and handing it to him. His voice sounded funny, breathy and kind of herky-jerky. It made me wonder if he was breathing through his mouth to combat the stench and if taking in that unfiltered air was really such a good idea.

When that dim light went on, I immediately wished it hadn't and I was even more thankful that I hadn't followed Jackson's mouth breathing ways.

"Oh, Jesus," I said, gagging when I got a look at It. And I thought I should address It properly because It was so damn vile that it deserved to have a name. It consisted of vegetation, candy wrappers and other garbage, but it was mostly the remains of various animals and as bad as it smelled, it looked even more appalling for a number of reasons. It made me think of possible fates and the thought of my remains rotting in a pile, never to be found...

"I'm going to be sick."

I stepped away from that mass, thankful that I hadn't stumbled just a little further and landed in it. It was Jackson, mouth hanging open, looking like a guppy that took a step forward.

"Is that…?" he asked but stopped mid sentence, shining that dull light behind the pile.

"Oh my God," we both said when the light fell on the body of a grown man, bloody and torn.

Jackson grabbed his hands and pulled him away from that makeshift compost heap, "He's cold," he whispered as if that were supposed to make me feel better.

"And now you're taking his things?" I asked as Jackson began stripping the poor man, who was probably being stored here until he became a midnight snack, intent on taking his coat and boots. For a minute there, I thought he was trying to be a Good Samaritan, checking for vitals, covering the body, or something a little less cold hearted then taking the clothes off a dead man's back.

"Do you want to die out here?" he asked matter-of-factly. "You're not going to last another hour with what you're wearing. Take his clothes or freeze to death, Leese. It's up to you."

Can't argue that logic and I found the fact that he was grave robbing to save my life a bit endearing; the oddest sort of chivalry I'd ever seen.

"What about you?" I asked and he immediately responded in typical male fashion that he would be fine. I get it; circumstances had brought out his inner caveman. Big-strong-man-build-fire-save-little-woman; what's wrong with men?

I set the backpack down, playing with the zipper for a moment before I looked up at him, still working away at the poor man's boots. "Should I open it?" I asked.

"Yeah, see if you can find a map," he answered throwing one boot in my direction. "It's not going to fit, but wear it anyway."

I looked down at the man as Jackson began tugging at the next boot with one hand while he held the lighter in the other. With the low ceiling and curtain of vines and moss that covered the entrance, the light reflected pretty well, illuminating every nook and cranny of this tight space and I hated the way the flicker of that tiny flame made the walls seemingly undulate.

Who could this be, I wondered, a fourth hunter? I couldn't be sure. All I knew what that I had never seen him before. He wasn't the man from the photo, of that I was certain.

"We won't be able to stay here," Jackson continued and I felt the urge to reply 'no shit' but held my tongue. "But if we can find a map and I can find north, we'll be on our way."

"How will you find north?"

"The North Star, Leese, how else?"

"What are you, a Boy Scout?" I asked with the utmost sarcasm.

"No…I was an Eagle Scout. If you're going to do something, you should always be the best."

Merit badges, helping old ladies cross the street; now that really shocked me and I was about to challenge him when he spoke.

"I know what you think of me, Leese," he started, feathers clearly ruffled, "but I'm not like _that_."

"Like what?" I asked, wondering why my psychic friend always presumed to know what I was thinking. Had he ever been right? I don't think so.

"On the plane, after you told me about the parking lot…you said it would never happen again."

And then he just stared at me as though telling him about the rape had been deeply offensive.

"I'm not following you, Jack."

"When you said that it would never happen again, you put me at the same level as _him_, Leese. So, like I said, I already know what you think of me."

I think a flippant 'whatever' would have been an appropriate response to the child standing in front of me, the one who was so hurt because I didn't hold him in high regard, but no, he pissed me off; I'd give him more than that.

"You're a piece of work, you know that? Only a man like you could take _my rape_, twist it around and make it all about him," I said, taking a challenging step forward. "I don't think you're like him at all."

He went back to the task at hand and I watched him working, finding a small measure of comfort when he refused to meet my withering glare.

"You're not like him at all," I repeated, causing him to look up in surprise. "You're worse, Jack, because you know better. You followed me back to my father's house and you chose to come after me with a knife, which is pretty damn sleazy no matter how you look at it."

I paused for a minute, catching my breath and letting the words sink in before I went on. To be honest, I didn't want to go too far. Part of me didn't like to see him looking so anguished, but I just couldn't stop. "And I also know that if you didn't have feelings for me, twisted and obsessive as they are, we wouldn't be here right now. So don't even try to say that I manipulated you just like you manipulated me. Don't try to say that we're the same. I'm not going to listen to that crap."

He sighed, his shoulders dropped and he looked at me as if to say, 'It's not easy being Jackson Rippner,' and maybe he and I were alike on some level, it was possible. It would explain the strange attraction/repulsion we shared, but that didn't matter really. I just knew I had him right where I wanted him. He had no further points to argue. From now on, he would have to be real.

Just as we were on the verge of a breakthrough, a genuine clearing of the air, a groan echoed through the cave. We both froze, Jackson still holding the dead man's foot in his hand, but killing, pardon me, _extinguishing_ the lighter, and we waited for a sound, any sign that something was coming either from the front or rear of the cave before we decided which direction to run.

I only wish I could have seen the look on Jackson's face when the man, you know, _the supposedly dead man_, jerked his foot away and whimpered, "Help me."

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**Author's Note: At last, I have updated something. Sorry for the delayed absence. Real life keeps getting in the way. **

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her encouragement and feedback and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	7. Chapter 7

I'm telling you, it was a sight I'd thought I would never see, or in this case, hear. It almost made being stuck in this smelly hollow worth it, even if I was certain we would never make it down the mountain with all our fingers and toes. Actually, I'd lost feeling in my feet about an hour ago but until that moment, hadn't had time to think about it.

But like I said, it was almost worth a toe or two to hear Jackson scream like a twelve year old girl who had just seen a mouse. Then it occurred to me that I was having a jolly good time at the expense of another; a bloody, torn and suffering human being. How's that for a mood changer?

"Give him his things back," I said to Jackson as I pulled the jacket off, sad to see that newly acquired warmth go.

By this time, my favorite manager had recovered from his initial shock and after two attempts, the lighter quickly flicked back on. How much juice did that little thing have left, I wondered.

"No," the man whimpered when I tried to cover him, offering up my apologies for having taken his clothing in the first place.

"But you said you wanted help...Jackson, for God's sake, let go of his foot."

He dropped it suddenly, causing the wounded man to grunt and leaving me to realize that until I had pointed it out, he had been completely unaware that he still held the appendage. He was just staring down at the man, surprised and shaken by the strangers continued existence. I'd never seen him like that, so dumfounded, and didn't think it was possible. His typical response to anything out of the ordinary was usually annoyance or outright rage. I wondered what it was that bothered him so. Surely, he'd seen and caused plenty of death and destruction in his day? What made this so different?

"Cold, he just went cold," the stranger began, but I had no idea what he could be referring to. "His eyes, cold and…and, they turned. Please, please don't leave me here like this."

I thought he was delirious; shock, blood loss, something along those lines. What he had said made no sense, but that last part – he was lucid and he looked up, looked right at Jackson when he said it.

"Don't leave me like this. He's coming back."

"Who's coming back?" I asked.

Before he could answer that familiar howl pierced that night. It was close, too close. This thing must be _him_, but why refer to it in that way, why give it a gender? _He had gone cold, his eyes had turned. _Turned; as if they'd been different before….

"We have to get him out of here, Jackson." That was true, we needed him, needed all the information we could get.

"Are you nuts?" he asked, regaining his composure with characteristic speed and efficiency; the aloof professional had returned. "We won't last ten minutes out there with him in tow. Think logically for once in your life, would you?"

Oh, was that ever the pot calling the kettle black and if we'd had time, we really could have gotten into it, but as it stood, that thing was getting closer and our much needed debate, clearing of the air, whatever you wanted to call it, would have to wait until later.

"Don't leave me," the man whimpered again, reaching towards Jackson with a trembling hand.

That hand, the mere sight of it, conveyed the message more clearly than spoken words ever could. This was my chance to see what Jackson was really made of. Could he look at a man, listen to him beg as he waved his hand, bloody stumps where the fingers should have been and do nothing. Was Jackson Rippner really that cold?

"Fuck," Jackson hissed under his breath, indicating that he wasn't.

He stepped towards me, then around, handing me the lighter before bending down to lift the man to a sitting position.

"No," the man hollered when Jackson pulled upward.

"What the hell do you want from me then?" Jackson asked, throwing his hands up in the air, overcome by frustration.

"You…the two of you can't take me with you."

"Then what; what do you want?"

"Don't leave me here like…this, not like this."

I watched them look at each other. Jackson understanding the words, the two of them reaching a silent understanding; that one of them was about to meet his end, the other about to become an executioner. I knew that time was not on our side but I didn't dare point that out. Part of me wondered why this man was so calm, seemingly confident and relieved that Jackson was the man to end his suffering, _wanting_ it so badly.

He had never looked at me that way. What did he see in Jackson, I wonder? What had he seen in me for that matter?

"Did you know him; did you know who he was?" I asked even as Jackson cradled the man's head and I knew that time was running out.

"Not really. This was my first year up here. Never much cared for hunting," he laughed. "He wasn't from around here, used to live down south."

I didn't bother asking for a name; didn't see much point in it.

He looked at me one last time, smiling just a little. "Melt that heart of ice," he said before it was done.

It seemed profound, if only I had known what he meant by that. Time would tell, I guess.

Jackson made sure it was quick and painless, snapping the man's neck without any warning. The poor guy had never seen it coming.

Once again, I was thankful that Jackson was here. If called upon to do the same, I don't think I would have been up to the task. All apathy aside, it takes a certain type of objectivity to end the life of another – even if it is a mercy killing.

And I looked at Jackson's face immediately after because I felt it was important I see his expression. It wasn't what I had expected.

To someone who'd never met him, didn't know a thing about him, he would have been a blank slate, and it's true that he donned a convincing, 'what's done is done' expression. But someone who knew him well – that someone being me and quite possibly, _only_ me – would have seen the remorse coupled with a hint of failure that washed over him.

I felt it too.

This had become an all out battle for survival and leaving this man, even though neither of us knew him, was like leaving a fellow soldier behind.

Jackson rolled him over, reaching into his back pocket, taking out his wallet and handing it to me.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"His license; it'll have his name. That way his family…,"

"Have you ever seen a person die?" Is that why he was acting the way he was; solemn, flashing that rarely seen but always heartfelt concern?

"Of course, Leese. You know what I do. What kind of a question is that?"

"I know you arrange things. I know you're an arrogant, money loving bastard with almost no morals, but have you ever actually _seen_ a person die? Had you ever killed anyone before?" _Your parents for instance?_

The look on his face told me he hadn't and I started to think that I didn't know the real Jackson Rippner at all.

"Receiving a call that the job has been done and doing that job yourself are two completely different things, aren't they, Jack?"

He didn't have time to answer before we heard what sounded like a wild boar, snorting and huffing not too far from the entrance of this very cave. Wild boar…we should be so lucky.

My finger came off that lighter and we were plunged into darkness. We didn't need to speak. There was only one option available to us at that moment, incommodious as it may be. He took my hand and we tip-toed further into the cave, ducking down as the space grew tighter and moving as quickly as we could without making a sound. That last part was difficult to say the least considering the way every footfall seemed to echo throughout the cavern.

When we heard it enter and cry out, we both stopped, hugging the wall and crouching low. My heart stopped. I thought for sure that it knew it wasn't alone; that a couple of guests had stopped by for dinner, but time passed and it didn't come looking for us.

For the time being, Jackson and I had gone unnoticed. Gotta love small miracles!

We weren't far from it, out of smelling range I was willing to bet, especially with that compost heap to mask our scent, but still too close for my liking, and for all we knew this cave could be a dead end.

And we weren't out of hearing range; that was painfully obvious.

I don't think I can ever adequately describe how it felt to cower in the darkness, listening like a coward while that man's body was devoured. I know that no matter how long I live, another forty seconds or forty years, I'll never forget those sounds. God only knows what was running through Jackson's mind at that moment, but for me, it was pure torture. There was just no escaping it; the sound of bones breaking, flesh ripping, the chewing.

One wrong move and we could be next. That was the worst part.

A flash of light, a glimmer in the corner of my eye, caught my attention. When I turned, it was gone.

I stared long and hard, knowing that I saw something. It couldn't have been a trick of the light…there was no light. And it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me; my subconscious keeping the hope alive to stave off despair. I knew I wasn't mad yet.

"Did you see it?' I asked Jackson, pressing my lips to his ear, mouthing the words more than speaking them.

He shook his head no, which meant that either he was blind, or I really _was _crazy.

But look! There is was again. At what had to be the end of the cave I could see a flame. It looked like a torch, Emmitt's torch maybe…a way out?

I tugged on Jackson's arm trying to pull him along with me.

"Out," I whispered.

"No," he whispered back.

_To hell with him_, I decided. Let him sit here waiting for that thing to finish dinner, I wanted out.

I tried to be careful. I put my hands out, feeling the wall, trying to find my bearings before I made a move. When I stood up, the backpack scraped against the rock wall alerting the feasting monster to our presence. So strong was my desire to flee, I had forgotten about that heavy weight resting on my shoulders altogether.

It shrieked again. I heard it lumbering towards us, followed by the sound of Jackson stumbling away blindly. This was my fault, all my fault. I prayed that my eyes had not deceived me. I prayed that I was right.

"The lighter, Leese, get the lighter."

I held it in my hand, taking one last look down the pitch black tunnel before the lights came on and the situation became undeniably real.

And this time, I didn't see any light at all; no torch, no Emmitt, nothing.

"Oh, no….,"

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**Author's Note: Alright, another update! The writer's block has finally lifted. For those of you who are interested, the latest chapter of "Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick," is in the works. I haven't forgotten about that one.**

**Lot's of suspense in this chapter, I hope. Wonder what she saw at the end of that tunnel, if anything……**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and suggestions and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. It's much appreciated.**


	8. Chapter 8

I used to love the term catacombs. It's one of those perfect words; so descriptive, so mysterious, just saying it used to send a shiver up my spine. But now that I'm in it, running behind Jackson with this thing at my back, all mystery went out the window. This was just plain awful.

It was so damn close, moving faster than a hulking thing like that should have. For every step I took, it took two until I could almost feel its breath in my ear and it began to crush my spirit, making my legs feel heavy with dread. It reminded me too much of the time I was forced to lie on my back and listen while another monster grunted in my ear.

It seems funny now, but that had been the worst part of it all; hearing that bastard groan in ecstasy while he got off at my expense. At the time, the sounds involved had been the least of my concerns, but when it was over and time passed, all the other details became foggy; his face, everything else he said _during_. What stuck with me the most, the two things that stood the test of time, actually, had been the image of that knife pointing straight at me when it became obvious that this wasn't an injured man who needed help with his bags, and the sound of those heavy exhalations while I looked up at the sky in disbelief wondering if he was going to kill me when he finished, almost wishing he would.

That had been the most terrifying experience of my life, and rightly so….until now.

As we went on, I thought about the light and knew that I had seen it. I swore it was there because there was no way in hell I would have given away our position otherwise. I'm organized, a born planner…I just don't make stupid mistakes like that. But now all I could see ahead was a dim light that kept going off and on – the lighter on its' last legs – and as we kept going, I prayed that it wouldn't burn out and that this cave wouldn't come to a dead end.

Too much time thinking and not enough time observing, I stumbled once and felt my ankle turn. _No_, I told myself, willing it to be so. _Don't go_ _down. If you do, you'll never get up again._

"Keep going, Leese. Don't look back," Jackson yelled, echoing my sentiment.

I took a few more awkward steps, leaping ahead, practically jumping because I simply could not lose ground. It's amazing to me what a person is capable of when something _has_ to be done. The loss of your life…you can't buy a more powerful motivator than that. In the face of it all, I defied the odds, besting a nearly twisted angle to keep myself upright.

"Oh God, Oh God," I kept repeating, or was I chanting at this point?

"Keep going," Jackson yelled again.

But then I did go down. One more divot in the rocky floor and I fell, landing flat on my face. My only consolation was that whatever had tripped me up, had taken _It_ down as well. We both screamed, for very different reasons, and I heard it scrambling to its feet as I tried to do the same.

Refusing to look back, I felt something close around my ankle and knew it had me. This could very well be it, my life could be over and in all my days, I had never wanted to _live_ so badly.

Then the lighter burned out.

"Jackson!" I screamed and felt his hand grasping my wrist. He pulled and it pulled, and there I was, caught in a sick game of tug-o-war with Jackson as my only hope of salvation.

"Don't let go. Don't leave me."

"I won't. Kick your feet, Lisa. Kick!"

I didn't need the instruction; my legs were already in overdrive, but he made me realize that if I didn't focus my efforts, I'd never get out of this. Trying my best to aim in the dark while being pulled in two directions – an impossible situation to put it lightly – I struck at where I thought its knuckles might be, kicking as hard as I could.

They always say the third time is a charm, but in this case it took four blows before I literally forced its hand. Just as quickly as I got up, I almost went down again, what with Jackson pulling me forward with all the strength he could muster. In fact, both of us almost fell and what a sight that would have been, the two of us lying there; me on top, of course.

Thankfully, that didn't happen and we took off, trying to use that forward momentum to our advantage, knowing that it wouldn't be long before that thing was at our backs again. With those precious seconds we gained, Jackson was able to fire up the lighter again, not that it did much good. The flame flickered briefly, and then died out, but Jackson being Jackson, refused to give up. I kept hearing that telltale flick and the light would come back on. Off and on, off and on, like a strobe light, creating an effect that only made things worse.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I didn't know what this thing was, how it got here or how long it had lived here, but the time it spent in this cave must have been significant. There was carnage everywhere. Even in my worst nightmares I could never have imagined something like this.

Dark stains on the walls, which I just assumed was blood. A blue sweater lying on the ground with a heavily decayed human arm still tucked inside, and even a stray bone here and there, glowing in the light of that dying flame. That last part is what got me thinking about time. It must have been here a while to have brought so many innocent people to its home; for their bodies to remain here, rotting away until there was nothing left but crumbling bones, killing enough people to become a legend, but never enough to prompt a full scale hunt. Either that or there was more than one of them, but that was a thought too horrible to consider.

I was about to tell him to stop, that I didn't want to see it; this cave, this thing as it chased us down, none of it, but before I could do that, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I looked over my shoulder and saw it head on. Its cream colored hair was still tainted red with the blood of that poor hunter and the look in its eyes told me that its hunger was no where near satisfied. I didn't think it could ever feel sated and if I didn't know better, I would swear that it had grown since I'd last set eyes on it.

That face, so appallingly human, made me scream out of sheer fright. I couldn't stop yelling and couldn't turn away; those deep-set eyes holding me rapt with their strange familiarity. I didn't look ahead until I heard Jackson cry out and by the time I turned, he was gone.

He vanished and every bit as quickly, the ground fell out from under me. For an instant, I felt myself falling and for the second time that night, Jackson grabbed my hand and pulled me to safety.

Hot on my heels, the monster came through the end of the cave in pursuit and I watched as it plunged off the edge of what turned out to be a cliff; its arms still outstretched because it was sure it had me. Everything got quiet, eerily so. The only thing we could hear was the sound of tree branches snapping, echoing throughout the open air and I knew they were slowing its fall, lessening the damage that would be done when it _did_ hit the ground. Maybe that's why it never cried out in alarm? It had to know its lair better than we did. Try as I might, I couldn't make sense of it all. Were we that lucky, or did this thing have yet another human emotion…arrogance?

But no matter what it was feeling or what had become of it, I was still alive and I had Jackson to thank for that. I took a moment to look around, to see exactly where we were and how Jackson had done it. We were standing on a shelf of sorts; a piece of stone jutting out of the mountain side and with his left hand, Jackson held firmly to one of those plentiful tree branches. I clung to the mountain side, gripping branches, grass, anything I could get my hands on and I rested, watching Jack as he rubbed his shoulder since grabbing onto me had almost pulled his arm right out of the socket. I was drained, but mostly I just felt grateful that he'd been blessed with such quick reflexes, shocked that he even bothered.

And the light I saw had been the light of the full moon, shining bright even if it was only intermittently. It would come and go as the occasional cloud passed by, explaining why it had been so clear to me one minute and gone the next. As ominous as it might seem, the orange hue it cast made me sigh in relief. I thought back to that saying, "Red sky at night, sailor's delight," and saw the sky clearing. If nothing else, the weather might cut us a break on this night.

I looked at Jackson again, his face clearly visible and beautiful in the pale light and I knew that two things would change from this point on: I would never fear mortal men like Jackson ever again, and I would always check under my bed before I went to sleep, because now I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that monsters really did exist.

"The things I have to do to get some time alone with you," he joked, almost panting from our recent sprint, but apparently not too tired for a little mischief.

_He's incorrigible_, I thought, but I offered no sarcasm or cutting remark. I was too relieved and quite frankly, exhausted to do so.

"I'm beginning to think we might get out of this alive, Jackson."

"Of course we will," he responded, being his characteristically over-confident self, but it was just what I needed at the time.

"So, what now?" I asked.

He turned away from me, looked up, looked around.

"Well, we can climb," he began, though neither one of us was thrilled with that prospect or physically capable of doing such a thing after spending so many long hours in the cold. That left only one alternative. "We go back the way we came."

The dark, smelly, gruesome way we came.

_Wow, this just gets better and better, doesn't it? _

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**Author's Note: Happy Easter everyone! Consider this my little present of sorts. I hope you enjoy the chapter as well as your holiday.**

**Thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review. You guys are the best!**


	9. Chapter 9

You're probably waiting for me to tell you how terrible it was to turn back and walk through that cave and believe me, it was no picnic, but we had the time to pull a flashlight from my backpack – much more useful than the lighter Jackson had since cast over the edge of the mountain – and the freedom to use it now that that thing wasn't around.

We could put our heads down this time and pretend that we hadn't seen all the horrible things that lay strewn about that cave. And even though I didn't really want to be here, it was a better alternative to the harsh outdoors considering my steps were coming slower than they should have been. I'd rather plug my nose, grin and bear it within the confines of a smelly cave than freeze to death. This being the same cave I couldn't get out of fast enough just a few moments before. Priorities and perspective can change at the drop of a hat; life is funny that way.

Like I said, we kept our heads down. Both of us were used to the stench by now after being subjected to it for the past fifteen to twenty minutes, maybe more, and it was easy to ignore the discarded articles of clothing and all the other debris, keeping it in the corner of my eye, never stopping for a closer look. I knew they would be more vivid, more horrific now that they were fully illuminated and not cast in the dim light of a flickering flame. I'm sure that Jackson, though he obviously has issues, felt much the same way.

We kept a steady pace, didn't say much to each other. After all that running my heretofore frozen muscles, exhausted as they may be, were actually feeling warm again and even if I wasn't eager to go back out in the frigid wilderness, I didn't want to lose that feeling. Sometimes, no matter how tired you are, the worst thing you can do is stop.

"Lisa," Jackson said, breaking the silence. One word and that was enough.

By the tone of his voice and the formality – calling me Lisa instead of Leese – I knew it had to be important.

"What?" I asked, chancing an upward glance and seeing the vague light at the other end of the tunnel.

It meant that we were almost out of here, had almost put some real distance between us and that monster, if it were still alive or in any condition to come after us, and it also meant that when we did reach the entrance of the cave the tattered remains of that poor hunter would be waiting for us; the poor soul whose boots and heavy jacket had saved my skin, though certainly not his. But I didn't have his boots, did I? Between his death and the monster's reappearance, I hadn't had the chance. In retrospect, that was probably for the best. I never would have gotten very far in oversized boots.

With that said, I still needed, and had to get, those damn boots.

I stopped out of necessity and approached. It wasn't much of a consolation that the creature had deemed them inedible and thrown them to the side. I was however, thankful that I didn't have to go _searching_ for them. They'd been cast aside like I said, about a yard from where the dead man lay. I snatched them up and put them on faster than you could say "it stinks in here" and though I could see him in my peripherals, I never actually looked at his remains. Some things are better left to the imagination. Keep going, onward and upward, as they say.

As I closed the small gap and stepped over what was left of him, I held my breath and gripped the jacket tight, almost gagging when those oversized boots slipped in something that was greasy, yet cloying. I tried to convince myself it was mud, but I knew all too well it wasn't.

"No," I groaned before I ever realized I had opened my mouth and when I took a deep breath, the smell hit me full force. I'd become accustomed to the odor of decay that had surrounded me in the depths of the cave, but this was different, this was fresh and it had an impact that was every bit as effective as a slap in the face; the air so thick with blood and death that I could almost taste it.

"Jack."

I don't know why I called for him and I don't know why I felt so comforted when he reached back and took my hand, but I knew I was grateful to have him there and in some strange way I was thankful to have seen this human side of him, baffling as it was.

I miss kindness. You just don't see much of it these days. I don't think people are uncaring per se, just pressed for time; running errands on their lunch breaks, rushing to and from work, juggling family, friends, and careers…all of it. We get so busy; we tend not to notice one another. No one knows that more than me. I used to be the exact same way before the gleam of a knife and a new, harsh reality taught me to be more observant; there were some people, some things in this world that refused to be shut out.

After the rape, the first night anyway, I couldn't get out of bed. I stayed there, thinking about it, replaying it and wondering what I could have done differently with the aid of hindsight. The actual physical pain of those recollections and the constant sinking feeling in my stomach is what got me moving again. I knew that no matter what, I couldn't tolerate feeling that way for long. That left me with two options; fall apart or pick myself up and face the world again. I could handle being swamped with work and responsibility, I could allow myself to get so tied up in my own obligations that I didn't have time to sleep, let alone think, but I couldn't feel that specific sort of emotional pain ever again. Unless you've gone through it, you can never understand and I probably can't describe it in a way that would do it justice, but think about the greatest despair you've ever known. Maybe it was something someone did to you or maybe it was something you might have done to another; it doesn't matter, just remember that guilt or shame, remember feeling low, then magnify that by ten and strap a 200 pound weighted belt around your shoulders.

Yeah, it feels just a little like that…..

Now do you understand why I became a workaholic?

The sky was clear when we stepped outside, both of us thankful to have that unpleasant leg of the journey behind us but not really knowing what we should do next.

"We need to hunker down, Leese, get warmed up and see what's in that backpack of yours."

And when he said hunker down I just assumed he meant someplace other than a cave filled with human remains.

"But where?" I asked, wiggling my toes as I spoke to make sure they were still there. I couldn't feel them and if I made it out of this, if_ we _made it out of this, with all ten still healthy, pink and permanently attached, it would be a miracle. It might seem hard to believe but I didn't fear the loss of a toe or two. My greater concern was hypothermia, not the luxury of being able to wear open toed shoes on a hot, summer day. I was getting tired and considering I was unused to the cold weather, I could feel myself starting to freeze up again, slowing down more and more. If my body shut down my pinkie toes would be the least of my problems and the thought of warming up, getting a little blood flowing through this aching body sounded like music to my ears. And I already told myself that if Jackson could find us shelter and maybe even get a fire going, I would gladly plant a sloppy kiss on those full lips of his and offer to have _all_ his children.

He stopped so abruptly that I almost ran into him. I did run into him actually, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground and he stared ahead. I remembered that look. When he turned the corner and spotted me across that crowded airport he'd had that same look in his eyes; like nothing else in the world existed but his quarry.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Over there," he responded, pointing up, but away from the edge of the mountain.

I didn't see anything that looked like a potential shelter or hiding spot, just a divot in the earth where one hill ended and another began.

I followed him anyway. He seemed overly confident, as usual, and I was too tired to care. Besides, after all that running and uphill climbing, walking downhill for a stretch sounded pretty good to me.

The outdoors looked even more desolate than I'd remembered. The barren trees, stripped of their leaves as well as their branches, grew in spotted clusters across the hills and valleys, but the moon was still there, reflecting off the snow and the river, giving us light. Again, in the presence of its glamour, I felt that same sense of peace.

"Start looking for branches, Leese. Get the longest ones you can find."

"Okay," I answered, drawing a funny look from him before I realized I'd confused him by not arguing for once.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jack."

"Why don't you give me that backpack then? It'll make your work a lot easier."

That _was_ a good idea, wasn't it? Why hadn't the thought occurred to me? That couldn't be a good sign as the longer we stood out here in the driving wind, the more I felt like a car that had all but run out of gas.

Off I went though, didn't wander too far of course and I didn't need to. Branches weren't that hard to come by. Up in the hills, the winds were strong, but thankfully, the snow hadn't lasted that long and had formed drifts in some areas, leaving others almost completely bare.

As I brought those branches back, for reasons yet unknown, I stopped and studied Jackson as he opened the backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a folded sheet of plastic.

"Yes," I heard him exhale with relief. "This is good, this is good."

"Why are you so giddy?" I asked.

He held up a relatively small aluminum can and his eyes lit up like a set of Christmas lights. "Canned heat; we can't light a fire, for lots of reasons, but this will get the job done _and_ be discreet. Like me," he finished with a chuckle.

That's when I noticed the pile of leaves beside him.

"What are you going to do with those?" I asked.

"I'm going to build a shelter, a Dugout shelter if you must know, a place for us to hide out and even have something to eat," he said, pulling an MRE out of Lindsay's pack. "I'm going to kiss her feet if we ever see them again. She sure did come prepared."

She sure did, but I couldn't help but wonder if Emmitt had done the same and how the two of them were faring without her share of the supplies. For a brief moment, I was gripped with worry. Then quickly, I realized how self defeating that was given the circumstances. No good could come over worrying about things I couldn't possibly change.

Wow, why did it take a situation like this to spark such awareness?

"This is great, Leese. Finally, life is handing us something other than heaping plates of shit."

"Yeah," I responded. I wondered what was worse, the flat tone of my voice, or the fact that I didn't care how blasé I sounded.

I saw the look of concern in his eyes. Not because he's a humanitarian, I'm sure. We were dependent on each other and wouldn't get out of here alive if we didn't stick together. The last thing he wanted was for me to turn into a pillar of ice, fall to the ground and shatter.

It didn't take him long to lay the first layer of branches down, followed by a thick coating of leaves. At that point, he turned to me and told me to get underneath; fire up the canned heat and warm myself up while he finished the job…such an interesting choice of words on his part.

"Tell me something," I began when he joined me minutes later and I watched as his face dropped.

I think he knew what was coming and why I was asking. Here was the man who had stalked me for eight weeks. He no doubt had cameras set up throughout my home, knew that I sometimes woke at 3:00 in the morning to cook up a therapeutic helping of scrambled eggs; he'd seen me laugh, seen me cry….and cry, and cry.

"All that time you watched me, did you ever think…suspect that I'd been…,"

He took a deep breath, paused and thought carefully before he responded.

"Lisa,"

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**Author's Note:**** Dang, I've updated two stories in less than a month. Dare I say I'm on a roll?**

**Thanks again to everyone for taking the time to read and/or review. I also want to thank you for your patience during my more than ten month absence!**

**And, as always, thanks to emptyvoices, who is always willing to brainstorm with me. **


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